


Cut and Run

by galactirat



Series: Bird of Passage [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Reboot, Reference to Previous Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-10-14 03:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20593784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactirat/pseuds/galactirat
Summary: Still reeling from the events following Blockbuster's death and the Gotham gang war, Dick finds himself in the cross hairs of a dangerous new enemy, and turns to an unlikely ally to help him regain control over his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in pre-flashpoint continuity, some time after war games and before Infinite crisis.

“How’s your wrist?”

Dick stuck the phone between his head and shoulder as he opened up his fridge. Apart from a galleon jug of water and a box of Chinese food that Dick could smell was bad through the cover, it was empty. He took the water with his good hand. There wasn’t always time for food shopping in between saving the world. “S’fine.” He replied as he pulled the cap off with his teeth. “Besides being fractured and all. Should be all good in a few weeks.”

“Well, make sure you actually rest it.” Barbara said sternly. “If I hear you’re out jumping off rooftops anytime soon I’ll break your legs too. And trust me I _ will _hear.” 

“Of course, oh omniscient Oracle.” Dick said, taking a sip straight from the jug before placing it on the counter. The banter felt good, like old times. And for a moment Dick could almost pretend that his relationship with Babs _ hadn’t _completely deteriorated over the course of the last few months. That the purpose of her phone call wasn’t exclusively to follow up on yet another global scale crisis.

The Crime Syndicate had come to their Earth only five days ago, but it felt like ages since Dick last rested. It had taken the combined efforts of the Justice League, Titans, and Outsiders to finally take them down, and even now his friends and colleagues were still cleaning up the collateral damage. Dick had been reluctant to leave them, but Bruce had insisted. _ “It’s over, and you’ve done more than your part already. Go home. You haven’t slept in days.” _Normally he would have loved to argue, but for once Dick was too tired for a fight. The last few days had taken as much of an emotional toll as a physical one, and after ignoring Bruce’s suggestion to go to the cave he returned to his Blüdhaven apartment.

Barbara was silent for a moment on the other side of the line. “Get some sleep, Dick. You deserve it.” 

“I’ll talk to you later, Babs.” After hanging up, Dick tossed the phone across the counter and leaned back, staring ahead at the cracked gray walls. His friends had often liked to remind him that his apartment resembled a prison cell. Even after living there for two years a lot of his belongings were still packed away in boxes and shunted off to the side of the main room. The utilitarian living conditions never really bothered Dick, though. He was usually too caught up in his work to worry about furnishing his apartment. Until recently, at least. Lately just being there made him feel caged. Things had changed. The city had changed. Since Blockbuster’s death . . . 

Dick closed his eyes, listening to the city ambiance. Even well after midnight Blüdhaven sang with the low rumble of traffic and intermittent wail of sirens. And for the first time in a long time those sirens actually meant something. Blüdhaven had come a long way. With Nightwing’s help, the good people of the city were able to take it back from the criminals. For once there was hope there. It had just come at a cost. 

All of a sudden it was a chore to keep his eyes open, and were it not for years of training Dick might have given in to the pull of sleep. Something was wrong, though. He could feel his head growing tingly, and his intuition started screaming at him like a fire alarm. _ Drugs. _ A calm voice said in his head. Dick tried to stand up straight too quickly, and had to brace himself against the counter. _ What’s the source? _He caught sight of the jug of water, and without missing a beat he spun around to the sink and forced himself to throw up.

Dick took a few deep breaths as he ran through some calculations in his head. Whatever he was dosed with worked fast, but he hadn’t drank much and hopefully expelled enough before it could really begin to affect him. The more important question right now was who broke into his apartment? And where were they now? Dick didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

“I figured it wouldn’t be that easy. You’re marvelously perceptive, Richard.” Dick spun around. He could barely see the outline of the figure standing by the window near the back wall, but he knew the voice.

“Owlman.” Dick sputtered, feeling his heart begin to race. This was bad. Thomas Wayne Jr. was challenging opponent on a good day, and this was far from that. Exhausted, injured, and now potentially affected by drugs, Dick didn’t like the odds. “We caught you. How did you escape?” He spoke slowly, making sure not to slur his words. His cell phone sat a few inches away on the counter behind him. 

Thomas stepped forward into the apartment, fully armed in his Owlman gear. The odds were not good at all. “Easily.” He said, slowly closing the gap between them. “Stupidity appears to be a constant between our two Earths.” The light gleamed off the lenses of his goggles. His expression was unreadable. “They haven’t realized yet, of course. They won’t. Not for a few more hours.” Owlman offered casually.

Dick moved back slowly toward the phone, eyes trained on the intruder. If he could signal for backup it would be fine. He could stall Owlman. “Don’t be so sure.” Dick said, trying to draw attention away as he reached slowly behind him with his good hand. “You’re not as smart as you think.” Just as he felt the phone beneath his hand he saw Owlman reach for something himself. Dick stiffened, expecting a weapon, but the object in Thomas’ hand was small and metal and blinking red.

“Jammer.” He explained. “Don’t bother with the phone.”

Okay, so backup was off the table. Fighting Owlman was still not a good option. He needed to keep him talking until he could think of a plan. And thinking was becoming increasingly difficult. “Shouldn’t you be trying to free the rest of the Syndicate?”

Owlman scoffed, and for a moment he sounded almost irritated. “What for? Those fools hold me back. Ultraman and Superwoman have power, but they’re petty and obtuse.” He paused, and his voice returned to the neutral tone he had before; soft and clipped. “No. I think I’ll be much better off without the two of them, as well as those other idiots I’ve called my allies. Things are different now. This Earth is different. I’ll get what I want _ my _way.”

_ Keep him talking _ the calm voice said. “And what _ do _ you want?” Super villains loved to monologue, and Dick was generally happy to indulge that desire as a tactic to buy time, but he also wasn’t so sure he _ wanted _ the answer to that question. 

“I just want my life back, Richard.” He sounded almost sincere. “I want what’s been taken from me. My home. My city . . . My family.” Owlman took another step forward, and when Dick staggered back from him he found the wall. “I’ll take it all back.”

“This _ isn’t _your world, though.” Dick said, feeling around behind him for something he could use as a weapon. 

Owlman shrugged. “It’s close enough.” He sighed as Dick pulled a kitchen knife from the block behind him . “I don’t want to hurt you. Far from it Richard. I love you like a brother.”

“You don’t even know me,” Dick held the knife in front of him. “I’m not Talon.”

Thomas Wayne Jr. tilted his head. “You will be.” 

Dick ducked to the side as Owlman lunged at him, barely avoiding a blow to the ribs. The other man spun around without missing a beat, and Dick was only able to scramble away after gauging the knife deep into what he hoped was a gap in the armor covering Owlman’s leg. It must have reached flesh, because Thomas let out an angry snarl before pulling the blade out and tossing it behind him.

Dick struggled to pull himself to his feet. The path to the window was clear, but Dick only made it to the couch before he felt his legs get pulled out from beneath him. He grunted with pain as he landed on his fractured wrist, and glanced back to see his legs wrapped by a pair of bolas. He was barely able to begin freeing himself when Owlman was suddenly looming over him.

He aimed a kick, not caring that his legs were still tangled, and hit nothing but air as Owlman shifted to the right. Then he felt the force of reinforced gauntlets connecting with his jaw, and he fell back, momentarily dazed. That was all Owlman needed to slam his back to the ground and pin him under his weight. Dick began to struggle, but Thomas eventually got hold of his wrists and forced them down on either side of his head, causing Dick to hiss in pain. The fracture was the least of his problems, though. And he could _ feel _ a wave of panic rising in his chest. _ Breathe. Stay in control. Assess the situation. _ The calm voice said. 

“Stop struggling.” Owlman growled above him. “It’s over now. Can’t you see?” The hold was good. Dick couldn’t free his arms . . . 

_ He couldn’t move_. 

_Don’t panic._ _Assess. Distract. _Dick had been in countless dire situations. Desperate, bleak, far worse than this. But right now he couldn’t breathe. _Why couldn’t he breathe? _

“Stop!” He finally managed to yell. _ Good_._ Take back control. _

“You should be _ my _ partner. Not his. He can't even protect you. He’s not _ worthy. _” Dick managed to free his left leg, and tried to kick out, but Owlman pinned it down with a knee, and pushed down harder on Dick’s fractured wrist. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Dick let out a gasp, but every gulp of air wasn’t enough, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. Each attempt to break free was only met with resistance, and all of a sudden he realized that the calm voice had abandoned him. Above him Owlman continued to speak, but Dick could hardly hear him. He sounded far away, like they were underwater. Or maybe that roaring in his ears was rain.

_ “That’s not how this works, Richard. You belong to me . . . Don’t worry, though . . . Everything will be fine.” _The words were a million miles away. And they were muddled with another voice. A woman’s. 

Dick didn’t even register the sound of crunching metal. 

* * *

Slade hated Blüdhaven. It was ugly and the air smelled as bad as Gotham’s, but with the added stench of rotting fish blowing in from the harbor. To make matters worse there was no real money to be made. Well, at least as far as Deathstroke the Terminator was concerned. The only significant market in Blüdhaven had been smuggling. The City Dock-Commercial had once been the go to destination for anyone seeking to transport illicit goods into the U.S. through the East Coast. Up until Nightwing had routed out the corruption in the Blüdhaven Police Department. Since then, criminals had begun to turn their ships towards friendlier harbors that did _ not _ have neighborhood vigilantes. 

Nightwing was the reason he had come to this miserable city. Slade had managed to intercept the communication line between the Outsiders and the Titans a day ago, and after hearing that Grayson was returning home, he decided to take a detour to Blüdhaven. As a mercenary, Deathstroke had relationships with the so called “hero community” that ranged from tumultuous at best to downright hostile. His connection with Dick Grayson was more . . . complicated, but the kid trusted him on a base level. They’d traded intel on occasions before, at least, and right now that was exactly what Slade needed.

The crisis with the so called Crime Syndicate had more than the heroes stirring. Rumor had it they were from an alternative universe or timeline. There was talk of evil Supermen and malevolent doppelgangers of their own world’s mightiest beings. An insurgence of so many powerful new players had unsettled a number of Slade’s wealthier clients, but what worried them more was the potential threats of the alternate Earth. If Wonder Woman had a double, why wouldn’t Simon Stagg or Lex Luthor? How close were their realities? What secrets did these alternative versions possess? Deathstroke generally didn’t take intelligence gathering contracts, but he had made an exception. If it turned out there was open passage between the two realities, he’d soon be swimming in contracts to take out or capture clients’ duplicates. Best to get the information for himself, and furthermore get paid to do it. And where better to start than with someone who’d been in the thick of the action?

Slade had taken position on the roof across from Nightwing’s apartment, and had only waited for about ten minutes when a dim light appeared inside. The window didn’t allow a full view into the apartment, but he saw a shadow pass as Grayson walked across the room. Slade paused for a moment, then pulled out the detached scope from his rifle, telling himself it was to confirm that the kid was alone as he scanned through the window. From what little he could see, there didn’t appear to be any shadows indicative of another party in an apartment of that size. And Slade _ was _ familiar with the layout. He’d been inside on more than one occasion. Satisfied with his recon, Slade prepared to pull back, but then the kid slid into view. Dim lighting aside, there was no mistaking that fluid quality of his movements. 

He was out of view as quickly as fast as he entered, and Slade let the hand with the scope fall to his side, expression unreadable even under the mask. His relationship with Grayson had gotten complicated over the years. They’d gone from enemies, to occasional allies, to something that Slade couldn’t really put into words. And at some point he let the kid get past his carefully constructed defenses. Slade always knew it would never last; that their time together had an expiration date. It was just a matter of waiting for their irresolvable issues to come to a head, and when it finally did . . . well, Slade supposed they got off lucky. It could have been a lot worse than three dead scum bags. Even if they were his own clients . . . 

A flash of movement caught Slade’s eye. There weren’t a lot of people who would have noticed the black shadow of the cape as it passed by the window, but as it turned out, Slade was not a lot of people. He took a step back and crossed his arms, melding into the darkness as he frowned under his mask. He hadn’t been expecting Batman himself to show up. Last he heard the man had still been on the moon with the JLA.

Even with the scope, Slade couldn’t catch more than a few flitters of shadow, but something felt . . . off, and after a moment of deliberation Slade decided to take a closer look. He opted to enter through the fire escape that snaked its way up the side of Grayson’s building. After descending his perch and crossing over to the alley across the street, he climbed up the metal rungs until he made it to the highest level before the roof. Slade then paused at the window and peered in, straining to see the inside of the pane. The box along the window was small enough to go unnoticed, but Slade knew what to look for. It was a sensor; part of the (very poor in Slade’s opinion) security system the kid had set up. It was also blinking red. Somebody had disabled it. 

Slade growled and pulled a switchblade from one of the pockets at his side, prying it deftly between the window and the pane until he felt the latch catch. Then he slipped through the window and stalked towards Grayson’s apartment, listening intently. He wasn’t sure what he was dealing with; or if it was anything at all. Maybe Grayson was finally updating his outdated security measures. Maybe Slade was about to come face to face with a very angry bat. Wintergreen always said his own paranoia would be the death of him. Slade resisted the urge to sigh. He wouldn’t take the chance. He trusted his instincts. 

Slade had enhanced hearing, but the titanium reinforced door that led to Dick’s apartment was nearly soundproof, so the noise coming through was muffled. Still, he could definitely make out the sounds of a large crash coming from within. He resisted the urge to pull the door off its hinges and instead pressed his ear against the metal, reminding himself that only fools and dead men ran into a situation blind. The commotion in the apartment had quieted, and as he strained his hearing Slade began to make out a voice. It sounded like . . . Wayne.

Huh. So maybe it was just the Bat. The crashing itself wasn’t a cause for concern; he knew Nightwing to have his moments. Still . . . considering the nature of the recent crisis . . . Slade closed his eyes and focused on the voice inside. It . . . it wasn’t Wayne’s. Close. But off. A wave of hot anger burned in his chest. Deathstroke grabbed the door handle and pushed, forcing the thick metal to bend and snapping the lock with ease.

The man inside the apartment was definitely _ not _ Batman, and he had Dick pinned down. Past those observations, Slade wasted no time. With the help of his enhancements he managed to cross the apartment floor in the same amount of time it took for the intruder to react to his entrance. Even though his face was partially obscured by goggles, Slade could see the fury and surprise that flashed across the man’s face. He took in the costume as he moved, and some part of his brain connected the fairly obvious dots. This avian themed assailant was Owlman of the Crime Syndicate. 

Owlman barely had time to stand before Deathstroke was on him, grabbing a fistful of lead colored cape at the base of his neck and slamming him into the small coffee table beside them. It splintered uselessly under the man’s weight.

Owlman pulled himself up from the debris as Slade moved in, seething with fury. One of the lenses of his goggles had cracked. “Who the hell are you?” He snarled, backing away despite the threatening tone of his voice. “Another _ hero _?” Owlman spat the last word, like it tasted sour on his tongue. 

“Not really.” Deathstroke pulled the Beretta from his thigh holster, aiming it squarely between Owlman’s eyes. If the goggles cracked that easily they obviously weren’t bullet proof . . . 

The man snarled, and Slade saw him reach for his belt so he pulled the trigger. But Owlman was already pulling to the side, and the bullet missed his head, embedding into the armor covering his shoulder instead. Simultaneously the room was filled with a thick black cloud. 

_ Damn. _ Of course he’d have smoke grenades.

Rather than shooting blindly into the gas, Slade ran towards the front door - Owlman’s only possible exit - and found the hallway already vacant. He cursed, but resisted the urge to give chase. He needed to make sure Dick was okay first. Smoke lingered at the door as he reentered, but it was dispersing fast.

Slade slammed the broken apartment door behind him, ignoring it as it bounced impotently back open, and headed into the apartment to assess the damage. Maybe the kid was injured. He usually didn’t stay down that long.

He found Dick sitting with his back against the living room wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked pale . . . shaken. And Slade could hear his heartbeat racing from across the room. Dick stared ahead blankly, and Slade found himself frowning.

“Are you okay, kid?” Slade pulled off his mask as he crouched down beside him, scanning for any sign of injury. He made note of a few minor lacerations and a nasty bruise or two, but on the surface Dick seemed relatively unharmed. Physically at least. 

Dick didn’t answer, and Slade felt a little uneasy. He knew Dick had faced rougher situations than this. Slade had even_ been the cause_ of a few of them, but he’d never seen this kind of reaction before. It was always different to be attacked in your own home, but to be honest, Slade had done _that _too.

Slade placed a hand on his shoulder. “Grayson.” He said softly. “Dick.”

Dick flinched at the touch, like someone waking from a dream, then looked at Slade like he was just realizing he was there. Slade felt another wave of fury, this time at himself. He should have made that shot. 

“It’s okay. He’s gone. Just breathe.” Slade murmured, his voice calm despite the violent thoughts brewing in his head. Dick’s chest was heaving, and Slade felt him shy away from the hand on his shoulder, so he pulled it away immediately. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breath.”

His words seemed to rattle something inside Dick’s head, because he finally managed to give Slade a shaky nod and took in a deep breath. It took several minutes and a few reassuring words from Slade, but eventually he was able to even out his breathing and bring his heart rate back down.

“Are you hurt?” Slade asked after a while.

Dick shook his head, finally managing to speak. “I just . . . I just needed a minute.” Dick’s voice nearly cracked, and Slade couldn’t wait to throttle Owlman. 

Slade nodded, confident now that the kid was through the worst of it. He then stood up and stalked over to the window, peering out from the side into the darkness below. Slade had no doubt that Owlman was still in the area, regrouping. Supposedly he was akin to this world’s Batman, and if that was true Slade wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating him. The Bat was a cunning opponent in his own right, but he had boundaries he wouldn’t cross. If Owlman had no such inhibitions then he could be a significant threat. It wasn’t safe to linger long. 

Slade locked the window and pulled the shades down, then turned around as he heard Dick stand up behind him. He was immediately struck by how exhausted the kid looked. It went further than the sleep deprivation that Dick drove himself through all too often. It was the weariness of someone who had been carrying too much weight for far too long, and couldn’t bear it anymore. 

“You want me to call Wayne?” Slade offered after a pause. 

“No.” Dick replied flatly, and Slade couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Clearly his relationship with Batman was on the rocks again. That could complicate things.

He repressed the urge to sigh, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “It’s not safe here, kid.” 

“I know that.” Dick snapped, running a hand absently through his disheveled hair. Slade could see his anxiety giving way to frustration. “It’s just that . . . Owlman . . . his real name is Thomas Wayne Jr. And it’s not just our identities he knows . . . he . . . “ Dick broke off, struggling to find the right words.

Slade felt a sour taste in his mouth. He could see why Dick was spooked. There was no telling just how much information this distorted version of Batman might possess. Safe house locations, aliases, passwords. Even the Batcave, which was normally one of the most secure sites in the world, suddenly seemed a lot less safe. “Okay, I get it.” Slade said tersely. “What do you need me to do, then?”

Dick stared at him. He seemed to be at a loss, and Slade found the sudden lack of certainty blatantly out of character. In the past Dick’s dogmatic tendencies had been a constant source of aggravation, but in that moment Slade would have welcomed it. 

After a long pause Slade sighed. “I have a safehouse nearby. I can take you there.” 

There was a surprised pause. “You don’t have to do that.” Dick said quietly.

“I know.” Slade retorted gruffly. “Go pack a bag before I change my mind. I’ll keep watch.” For a moment Dick looked like he was going to say something else, but finally he nodded and headed into his bedroom. Slade caught the flash of relief that crossed his eyes just before he turned away. God, what was he getting himself into?

Slade stared at the bedroom door for a moment, then pulled out his phone to message Wintergreen. Five minutes later Dick was at his side with a duffel bag strapped over his shoulder. Slade gave him a nod and pulled his mask back over his face, then turned towards the door.

“Hold on.” Dick said suddenly, pulling away towards the kitchen.

Slade crossed his arms. “Leave the oven on?”

Dick narrowed his eyes and snatched his cell phone from the counter top. “I need to warn them. Owlman seemed convinced that it would take a while for them to realize he’s gone.” He said. Slade stood by impassively as he dialed the phone. “Oracle, it’s me. You need to alert Batman and the JLA. Owlman’s escaped.”

A woman’s voice spoke up from the other end. “What? How do you know? Is he there? Do you need backup?”

Dick hesitated for a moment, glancing momentarily at Slade before finally responding. “ . . . He _ was _. He attacked me in my apartment but he’s gone now. I don’t know where.”

“Are you okay? Stay where you are, I’ll call Bruce.”

“I’m fine. I’m going to lay low, but I’ll be in touch soon.”

“Wait! Dick don’t-“

Dick ended the call, cutting off the voice, then he returned the phone to the counter and walked back to Slade. Something more resolute - more inherently Dick Grayson - was beginning to return to him. He took a deep breath and gave Slade a decisive nod. “Let’s go.”

Slade returned the nod, and together they left the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman tries to figure out what happened in Blüdhaven, and Slade takes Dick to his safehouse.

The warehouse was located south of Dixon Docks, at the end of a narrow stretch of land along the harbor retained by Wayne Enterprises. It was the smallest in a series of buildings that stocked the company’s cargo and shipping equipment, and it just so happened to be out of operation. 

According to the large orange sign on the overhead doors it had a toxic mold infestation, but that fact was only true on paper. Finding himself in need of the space while tracking a gang of arms smugglers, Batman had elected to _ repurpose _ the building for a few weeks. It was purely a stroke of luck that it was suitable for his current task as well.

Batman wrapped an arm around one of the support beams from the ceiling where he was perched, leaning in as he peered down into the dark warehouse. Most of the equipment had been removed when his planted mold samples had been discovered, so apart from a few abandoned odds and ends the room was almost empty. The exception was a square cargo container, about eight feet in height, situated on the central loading platform. In the silence of the warehouse, Batman could hear the low thrumming that radiated from the contents of the crate. It made the dull ache in his head pound harder.

Maybe he’d get a few hours sleep when this was all over. Once he finished tying up the last few loose ends, at least.

Such as finding a way to power up the Qwardian Gateway below him. 

It had taken Batman all night to finally track down the stolen flatbed that a twisted Oliver Queen lookalike (he went by Marksman) had appropriated in order to transport the gate, but the machine had been crated and prepped for travel, so hauling it to the warehouse was a simple enough process. Unfortunately, turning the blasted thing on was another matter.

Batman had taken a look at the gate as he loaded it off the truck and into the warehouse. It was a grotesque array of glossy black metal (some substance apparently native to the antimatter universe that the Crime Syndicate called home) and a long cylinder protruded from its base. It rotated counterclockwise, emitting a frequency that was making Batman consider earplugs. It was through the gateway that the Syndicate had come to their world, and if he could just figure out how to power it up he could send them right back where they came from. Unfortunately, Bruce wasn’t exactly experienced in the field of Qwardian mechanics. He wouldn’t be able to bypass its security protocols. No. They needed that damn key.

“Batman. Can you read me?” The comm at his ear buzzed to life, and Bruce frowned. He had asked for radio silence for the remainder of the night. She shouldn’t be calling him . . . 

“Oracle.” He acknowledged with a low growl, rubbing a hand over the armor covering his forehead. He could already feel his headache getting worse. “What’s happened?” 

“You need to get to Blüdhaven _now_. Owlman just attacked Dick at his apartment.”

Bruce nearly lost his balance as his grip slipped from the beam. “What?” He finally managed to say through clenched teeth. He felt something in his chest drop. How could Owlman-? _ That doesn’t make any sense. _

Oracle continued on the line. “I’m looking into how he escaped as we speak, but you need to find Dick. He said he was fine, but now I can’t get through to him.” 

Batman grappled down from the rafters, trying to push down the panic rising at his throat. Dick would be okay. He would manage. He always did. 

“I’m on my way. Dispatch Batgirl and Robin.” Batman said, scowling at the cargo container as he stalked past it on his way to the door. “I’m also sending you the coordinates to the Qwardian Gateway. Send Superman by to collect it _ immediately_.”

* * *

After a thorough sweep for bugs and trackers, they made their way to a sleek black SUV Slade had parked a few blocks away. Dick momentarily considered pointing out the neighborhood’s lofty car theft rate, but the thought of idle conversation suddenly seemed too taxing. 

Instead he collapsed into the passenger seat, carelessly dumping his duffel bag into the row behind him as Slade settled at the wheel. Outside the city was beginning to lull. It was pushing three now, and even Blüdhaven eventually sank into an uneasy sleep. Those still awake were the ones who dwelled in the shadows, and generally that would have included Dick. As he glanced warily at the rooftops, he couldn’t help but feel exposed under the harsh glow of the street lights. 

“Eat.” Slade said, shoving a protein bar into his hands. Dick took it despite the way his stomach turned at the very thought of food. “There’s water under the seat.”

They drove in silence after that. Dick nibbled the end of the protein bar as Slade concentrated on the convoluted path he was winding through the streets of Blüdhaven. There were a number of effective countermeasures for a tail, and Slade seemed to be using just about all of them. For once, Dick was grateful that the man was as paranoid as Bruce. 

When Slade was satisfied, they made their way to the city limits, and after one last sweep for trackers, he turned off onto the interstate highway. With nothing but open road ahead of them, Dick finally felt himself relax a little.

Beside him, Slade was the embodiment of composure. He kept his gaze fixed attentively on the road, and made no attempt to question the circumstances that led to their current situation. Dick couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that the other man didn’t immediately pry. It gave him time to think.

Dick rubbed his injured wrist idly. At least it didn’t seem like Owlman’s attack caused it any extra damage. Physically he could have come out of it a lot worse. He felt high-strung, though, like someone was poking his brain with a hot needle. A side effect of the sleep deficiency. 

Lately, it was just one crisis after another, and Dick was tired of it. He was tired of his life being dictated by forces outside of his control. He was tired of endlessly reacting as he lost more and more. Blockbuster had taken everything he had in Blüdhaven from him. Now Owlman wanted his life as Dick Grayson, as well. 

The only thing that could make him feel more helpless at this point would be going to Bruce.

It was true that Owlman might possess information that could compromise the bat’s security, but that wasn’t Dick’s only reason for turning down Slade’s offer to call his mentor.

Because Bruce wouldn’t work with him on this as an equal. Most likely He would just try to force Dick into lockdown until he could deal with Owlman himself. And Dick just couldn’t _ handle _ Bruce’s obsessive need to control everything right now. He needed to be able to make his own decisions. He had the inexplicable feeling that he was at the edge, and if he wasn’t able to take back the reins of his life now he never would. 

And Slade . . . well Slade was a control freak in his own right, but in a different way. He was uncompromising and severe, but he never made Dick feel incapable. 

It suddenly occurred to Dick that he didn’t know why Slade had even _ been _ at his apartment, and the fact that he hadn’t immediately questioned the presence of the world’s premier assassin at his front door probably should concern him more than it did. 

Slade caught his gaze. “The safehouse is about half an hour away. We’ll swap out cars in a few miles.” He murmured, as though Dick had asked. 

“What were you doing at my apartment, anyway?”

“Needed intel.” Slade answered matter-of-factly. “Clients want to know more about the Crime Syndicate, and the world they’re from.” He glanced back at Dick with a raised eyebrow. “Considering the circumstances, I’d say you owe me.”

Dick couldn’t argue with that. He had dragged him into this mess, after all. “What do you want to know?” He asked warily, trying to calculate if there was any information that would be dangerous in Deathstroke’s hands.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

Dick sighed. He wasn’t in the mood to give a comprehensive report, so Slade would have to take the abridged version for now. “Well long story short a gateway was opened from our world to some kind of alternate universe. Honestly, I haven't read the full report yet, but it's some kind of Qwardian antimatter machine.” Slade nodded, and gestured for him to continue. 

“They’ve been calling it Earth-Three.” Dick explained. “It’s like a mirror to ours, only where we have heroes they have psychopaths.” He traced a finger along the material of the splint covering his wrist. “The Crime Syndicate took over their own world. They’ve caused so much destruction there it’s practically unlivable. Which is why they decided to take ours when they found it. The Justice League nearly got routed, so they called us and the Titans for support.”

“No Justice Society?” Slade asked.

“Nah. They’re off world, or out of time or something. Oracle mentioned Per Degaton.” Dick glanced out the window, watching as the trees passed by in a continuous blur. Up ahead the sky was beginning to turn a dark shade of blue. “I guess none of this will happen if they lose and the timeline ceases to exist.” He offered placidly.

Slade hummed. “Stay on topic.”

“There’s not much more to it. It got dicey, but once we managed to take down the the big three the rest were pushovers.”

“What about the portal to their Earth?”

Dick glanced at Slade. “This gateway is like a one time round way trip for these guys. Once it’s activated anyone with the right energy signature will be sent back home.”

“So why doesn’t the JLA just activate it?”

“It needs some kind of energy key. Plus the League’s been debating whether they even _ want _to send them back. They’re dictators on their world. It’s probably better off without them.”

“So instead they’d keep a dozen of the Multiverse's most dangerous criminals locked up on our Earth. That’s comforting.”

Dick snorted. “That’s what Bruce said.”

“I guess that’s one thing we can agree on. What happened to the key?”

“The Syndicate had it, so presumably its with Owlman now.” 

“Great.” Slade glanced over at Dick. “Why would he come after you rather than the gate? If he powered it up then he and his allies would be free back on their own world, right?”

“That’s the thing, I don’t think he _ wants _ to go home. He seems to think he can make some kind of fresh start here.” Dick said glumly.

“And where do you fit in?”

Dick paused. “There was a version of me of his Earth, and they were partners, but then _ that _ Dick Grayson was killed.” That was what Owlman had told him at least, back before they had caught him. The memory of the exchange almost made Dick shiver.

“Let me guess, he wants _ you _ to be his new sidekick.”

Dick shrugged in reply.

“Ambushing someone in their apartment is one way to start a partnership.” Slade said sardonically, making Dick snort.

“You would know.” He retorted.

Slade’s lip twitched. “As I recall, my only goal was abduction.”

“Sure.” Dick rolled his eyes, letting some of the tension slide from him.

There was a slight pause. “So, is there a version of _ me _ on that Earth?” Slade asked, raising an eyebrow and stealing a glance Dick’s way.

Dick actually chuckled. “Actually, I heard you were president.”

Slade looked at him, unimpressed. 

“I’m serious!” Dick exclaimed, and after a moment Slade turned his attention back to the road.

“Hmpt. Politics? I guess that means even _ I’m _ more evil on that Earth.”

Dick laughed.

* * *

By the time Batman reached Dick’s Blüdhaven apartment building, the hallway on the top floor was already occupied by two young vigilantes. Tim was examining the window that led to the fire escape while Cassandra watched from over his shoulder. Batman grappled up to the metal platform, and Robin’s head jerked up in surprise. Batgirl just looked at him expectantly.

“What have you found?” Batman asked, sweeping past Robin through the open window. He took care not to let the folds of his cape brush against the pane.

“No sign of Dick _ or _Owlman. Security system was disabled and the front door was forced.” Robin reported, looking up at Batman with a grim expression.

Batman nodded and turned to Cassandra. “Batgirl, sweep the area. Let me know if you find any sign of them.” 

Batgirl nodded, and Bruce watched as she disappeared through the window and into the night. Owlman was likely long gone, but even if he wasn’t, Cassandra could take care of herself. If Owlman _ did _ make the mistake of attacking Batgirl, he’d be in for a very unpleasant surprise.

“Do you think Owlman got him?” Tim asked quietly as his eyes trailed over the scene.

Batman tried to push away the hollow feeling spreading across his chest. He needed to separate himself from his emotions if he was to objectively evaluate the situation. “We can’t be sure.” He said matter-of-factly. “Dick wasn’t in any condition to take down Owlman in a fight.”

“He told Oracle he was fine. That he was going to lay low.” Tim offered.

“It could be a ruse. Perhaps Owlman thinks it will buy him some time if we think Dick isn't in danger.” Batman pointed out.

“But we didn’t even know he escaped until Dick called us.” Tim rebutted, turning around with a frown. His gaze scanned the room, and Batman could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “Why did he even _ come _ here?”

Bruce scowled darkly under the cowl. That was the question he’d been asking himself since Oracle gave him the news. Nobody knew he had escaped, and Owlman was well aware that the gateway would soon be moved somewhere more secure. With the energy key he’d be able to track its location, so why hadn’t he taken the only opportunity he might have had to free his allies? Why did he attack Dick instead? 

The answer to that question was not one Bruce wanted to ruminate on at the moment. What mattered right now was finding Dick. 

Turning from Robin, Batman walked to the door leading to Dick’s apartment, eyeing it with a frown. To say the door was forced was an understatement. The thick metal around the doorknob was bent and twisted, and the latch had cleanly snapped. Based on the impressions it was clear the door was pushed in from the outside.

Robin appeared at his shoulder. “Yeah, I thought that was weird too. The door was forced, not picked. But why would he do that? Dick would hear and he’d lose the stealth advantage.” Tim continued, eyebrows raised “Also, _ how’d _he do that? That door’s reinforced.”

Batman ran his hand along the edge of the door, then walked around to examine the other side. “I don’t see any marks from an entry ram, or any other tools…”

“Last time I checked Owlman didn’t have super strength.” 

Robin was right; something wasn’t adding up. He needed more information before he could figure out why, though. Batman glanced across the hallway. The only other apartment on the floor was retained by Dick as well, under the guise of Dr. Fledermaus. Dick’s idea of a joke, Bruce supposed (and he had _ told _ Dick it was just likely to draw attention, but did the boy ever listen to him?). The floors below were occupied, though. “You’d think someone would have heard and called the police.”

Tim snorted and pushed past the useless door into Dick’s apartment. “Not in Blüdhaven. Oracle’s been scanning BPD radio, just to be safe.” Batman followed after him, pausing by the demolished coffee table to examine a pair of bolas. Tim continued into the kitchen. “I got a knife, here. One from the block on the counter. Maybe Dick grabbed it for defense.”

Bruce left the bolas and headed over to the window in the back, his mind going back to what Tim had said about the stealth advantage. Owlman was a strategist; breaking in through the front door wasn’t the optimal move. And it’s not how _ Bruce _ would have done it. “I think you’re right about the door, Robin.” He mused as he unlocked the window and pulled it open to take a closer look. “There’s marks on the latch. Metal shavings on the sill indicate they’re recent.”

“That makes more sense, but then why force the door? To throw us off?” Robin asked from the kitchen. 

Batman grunted a sound of doubt, turning from the window. When he entered the kitchen Robin was closing the refrigerator. The young detective's gaze had fallen to a gallon jug on the counter. “What are you thinking?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just a hunch.” Robin said, picking the jug up with a quizzical look in his eye. “I mean, if _ I _was going to attack a highly trained vigilante in their own home, I wouldn’t take any chances.“ Batman was impressed. Tim’s instincts were exemplary, as usual. He crossed his arms and watched as the boy pulled out the portable chemical analyzer from his waist and take a sample. After a moment it beeped loudly.

“Well?” To be honest, Bruce was fairly sure what the answer to his question was. 

“It’s definitely dosed.” Robin frowned and looked up at Batman. “I’m not really seeing a scenario where this plays out in Dick’s favor.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but Batman could tell that Tim was tense. He had suffered a lot the last few months. He lost a father . . . and a close friend.

Bruce immediately pushed the image of Stephanie Brown out of his head. He couldn’t think about that. Not while he was treating his own son’s apartment as a crime scene.

Damn. This was his fault. 

Batman clenched down on his jaw, willing himself to focus. He wasn’t going to fix anything unless he could pull it together. He turned his attention back to the room. There had to be something to make the pieces of the puzzle align. 

Something caught his eye by the broken table. He headed over and crouched down, shifting a splintered piece of wood to reveal something small and round. He picked it up.

“What’d you find?” 

Batman examined the ball closely. A tiny owl face was etched into the metal. “Smoke pellet. Not one of ours, but the design is close.”

Robin sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath his domino mask. “Why would he use smoke? The space is too confined; it wouldn’t help him fight.” 

“Maybe he was trying to escape.” The two detectives fell silent. 

“The forced door.” Robin eventually said. “You think there was a third party.” His last sentence wasn’t a question.

“Owlman enters through the window and ambushes Dick. Before he can succeed, someone else forces the front door open. Owlman uses the smoke to escape.” Batman said, black cape sweeping across the floor as he paced away from the kitchen.

“That would mean Dick’s call was authentic.” Tim said with relief. His sudden show of optimism was quickly replaced with puzzlement. “Why didn’t he tell us where he was going?” 

Good question. “Maybe he thought Owlman would intercept the call.” Batman speculated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay. So I guess we need to figure out who the third party is. They busted through a titanium enforced door like it was plywood. One of ours then? Maybe one of the Outsiders went in to check on him?” Tim suggested. 

“Oracle’s been checking in with the others. As far as she knows nobody’s contacted Dick or been in Blüdhaven.” Batman responded, eyes narrowing. 

“Amygdala lives downstairs. Maybe he heard the noise? He likes Dick enough; he might intervene if he saw he was in trouble.” It was as good a theory as any, so Batman stood by as Robin opened the line to Barbara. “Oracle, do you know if Amygdala was around today?” He asked.

Oracle chimed in through the comms. “Standby . . . Helzinger’s away for the weekend on some Lockhaven staff retreat.”

“Thanks…” Tim said, sounding stumped.

“No problem. Keep me updated.”

As they spoke Bruce was going through a list in his head of people who knew Dick Grayson was Nightwing and would be capable of busting through the door. As far as he knew there weren’t many metas in Blüdhaven, but it was possible that Dick had made new alliances. Things had been strained between them lately, and Bruce was beginning to realize how little he knew about his son’s day to day life at the moment. 

Batman suddenly tensed as he felt a presence at his back. Turning around, he came face to face with Cassandra. Bruce hid his surprise, but she would read it anyways, and there was something humbling about having his own trick used against him.

“Any sign of them?” Batman asked, and he saw Robin’s head turn when he spoke. Tim hadn’t noticed her enter either.

Batgirl shook her head, and pointed towards the hall. “I . . . found tracks outside.”

“Show me.” 

She lead them down the fire escape and into the alley below, motioning to a series of black marks on the cement. Nearby one of the overstuffed dumpsters was leaking with something dark and oozing; oil was Batman’s best guess. The owner of the prints had clearly stepped in it as they passed by. And recently too. They were still wet.

“Good work, Batgirl.” Batman said, genuinely impressed. Cassandra was one of the most skilled fighters he had ever met, but perhaps some of the detective skills he had been trying to instill in her were beginning to take root as well. Not only did she manage to spot the prints, but she was able to discern their potential as clues to the case. 

Batman crouched down to get a better look, and Robin followed his lead. Most of the prints were only partials, but it was enough to get a basic idea.

“They look recent . . . “ Tim said. 

“Lug configuration is consistent with tactical footwear.” Batman murmured, narrowing his eyes.

“Owlman?” Batgirl suggested with a shrug.

Batman shook his head. “They’re heading _ to _ the fire escape, not away. Robin and I have already established that Owlman entered through the window. These could be from our third party, though.”

“Based on the size I’d say male.” Robin said. 

They had a profile. Most likely male. Strong enough to force open a reinforced titanium door. Either interacted with Dick in his civilian identity or knew he was Nightwing. Wears military grade tactical boots. Skilled enough to fend off Owlman. 

Damn.

“Deathstroke.”

Batgirl snarled; Robin merely gaped for a moment as the facts began to align. “But . . . Why would _ he _ be here?”

Batman ground his teeth for a moment. “He and Dick have a . . . complex relationship. They’ve worked together before . . . shared intel.” Dick’s lack of caution when dealing with the mercenary had been yet another source of contention between them. Dick was always able to find the potential for good in others, but what he could possibly see in a cold blooded killer like Slade Wilson was a puzzle to Bruce. 

“But why would Dick leave with Deathstroke? He doesn’t really trust him, does he?” Robin asked.

Batman ignored him and opened his link to Barbara. “Oracle, I need you to dig up anything you can on Slade Wilson’s recent activities. A location if possible.”

“Deathstroke?! Shit.” Barbara seemed to grasp the severity of the situation. “Wilco. Oracle out.” She said before she hung up, and Bruce could already hear the clack of computer keys before the line was cut.

Batman turned to his partners. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise as Slade pulled onto a private road in the silver sedan he had swapped for his SUV (Wintergreen had gotten his message and stashed the vehicle, sparing Slade the additional hassle of boosting one himself). The safehouse was situated on the outskirts of a small city due west of Gotham, perched on a hill with a view of the main road. On the outside the building appeared innocuous enough; just a simple bungalow style home. Nothing about it would suggest it was actually a fortified armory belonging to the world’s deadliest assassin.

“This is quaint.” Dick snickered beside him. 

Slade ignored him as he pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Dick had gotten a little chattier towards the end of their ride. For some reason Slade found it preferable to the previously subdued silence, so he decided to tolerate it. For the moment, at least.

“I’m imagining it now, Deathstroke the Terminator, suburban homeowner.” Dick mused before giving Slade an impish smile and hopping out of the car.

Slade rolled his eye and followed after him, telling himself he was going to regret this. 

After dealing with the security system he opened the door and led Dick into the house. The interior had a simple but modern design, with sleek black hardwood floors and muted gray furniture, offset by the lighter shade of the walls. It was a decent looking arrangement, but it had the distinctly unlived in feel of a model home.

“I was going to ask if you did your own interior design, but I don’t see any animal heads.” Dick commented as he stepped into the threshold of the living room and looked around.

Slade grunted a reply, and watched with irritation as Dick dropped his bag unceremoniously on the floor before flopping down on the couch. 

Dick flashed him a grin, and Slade scowled. 

He had known Dick long enough to recognize when he was deflecting. His blase attitude couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes or the way he jumped at every sound. He was completely run down. And Slade had a feeling it went further than standard fatigue. 

“You need some sleep. A week's worth by my estimate.” Slade said after a moment, leaning back against the doorframe.

“I slept in the car.” Dick responded dismissively.

“Microsleep doesn’t count.” Slade countered, recalling how Dick had completely zoned out mid conversation on an occasion or two.

Dick stared up at the ceiling, apparently not interested in responding. Slade sighed and approached the couch. 

“What’d you do to your wrist, anyway?” He asked, taking Dick’s arm to examine the splint. 

“Took a fall fighting evil Hawkman.” Dick said. He could feel his eyes on him, and Slade tried to ignore the fact that he could hear his heartbeat speed up at the touch. “This one went by War-Hawk.”

“How clever.” He deadpanned. “Sprained?”

Dick shrugged. “A fracture, but it’s pretty minor.” He said, pulling his arm away. “Doesn’t need surgery or anything.” 

“Even a minor fracture takes time to heal.”

“Duly noted Doctor Wilson, I’ll take it under advisement.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Dick stared down at his hands. Slade wasn’t going to force the him to talk if he didn’t want to. 

Eventually he decided to speak, though it wasn’t exactly the topic Slade had been expecting. 

“Look . . . Back at that warehouse. I’m . . . sorry . . . ” Dick said, faltering for a moment as he stared at Slade. “What I said-”

Slade cut him off. “You said exactly what you meant.” He growled, and Dick looked away.

It had been the last time they were together before Slade busted through the door of Dick’s apartment a few hours ago. He still remembered the smell of blood as he stood in that warehouse, surrounded by the bodies of his own clients while Dick stared at him in shock. The violence wasn’t new to either of them, but it had pierced the charade they had created for themselves. They couldn’t pretend anymore.

“You killed those men to save me.” Dick said quietly after a moment.

Slade felt his temper flare without warning. “I’ve killed a lot of people, kid.” He hissed in a dangerously low tone. “For money, or just because they were in my way. What happened at that warehouse was nothing unique, and nothing I won’t do again.” 

Dick held his gaze, and for some reason Slade felt like cursing. He didn’t need _ Grayson _ of all people trying to justify what he’s done, but Slade should be able to control his reactions better than that.

“I killed Blockbuster.” Dick blurted out without warning.

Slade blinked at him, caught off guard. For a moment they just stared at each other.

“I killed the Joker, too.” Dick added after a moment, and a peculiar look took over his expression.

Slade studied his face with a frown. He had heard about Blockbuster’s death, and though some of the details were still ambiguous, his sources made it clear that Tarantula had been the one to shoot the man. As for the Joker, well Slade knew for a fact he was currently sitting in a padded cell at Arkham. After a moment he decided to take the bait.

“I heard that the amateur in the spider costume killed Blockbuster.” He said.

Dick’s face was strangely impassive. “Catalina pulled the trigger, but I let her do it.”

Slade scoffed, and waved his hand dismissively. “Doesn’t really sound like you killed him, then.”

“Semantics.” Dick hissed through his teeth, something wild suddenly gleaming in his eyes. “He’s dead because of me.”

“Right.” Slade said after a moment, crossing his arms as he scanned Dick’s face. “And the Joker too, huh?” He murmured.

Dick nodded eagerly. “I did, but Bruce brought him back.” 

“That’s too bad.” Slade said, and Dick stared at him, looking for a reaction. Slade didn’t give him one, so eventually he looked away, and the fervent mood that had overcome him seemed to die down. They were silent, until Dick finally spoke again.

“He acts like it never happened. So do the others. Or they try to tell me it wasn’t my fault or it’s all fine because he’s not dead.”

The kid’s penchant for self flagellation was absolutely excessive. Slade was by no means innocent himself, but he doubted anyone in their right mind would condemn Dick for killing an abomination like the Joker. Hell, Slade would do it for free if he had the chance. Nobody was going to shed any tears for Blockbuster, either. Both of them deserved to rot.

“What’s your point? You want me to tell you that you’re a monster now. Like me?” Slade sneered. “Grow up, kid. We all have regrets. Live with it.”

“I don’t.” Dick said flatly.

Slade raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“I don’t regret it.” He spoke slowly, as though he were trying to comprehend his own words as they came out. 

Well that was unexpected. 

“I _ did _ feel guilty. For a long time. But it wasn’t because of what I did. I didn’t regret killing the Joker. And I don’t feel bad that Blockbuster’s dead. They got what they deserved.” 

Dick’s voice grew quieter as he continued. “That night in Blüdhaven . . . Blockbuster said his life was more important to me than my own. And he was right. After everything he did, after everything he said he was going to do . . . I would have let him destroy my life, because all I could think of was the look on Bruce’s face when I killed the Joker. How he brought him back so _ I _ wouldn’t have blood on my hands. I couldn’t fail him _ again _ , even if it cost everything. And that scared me . . . So when Catalina gave me an out I froze. I just _ stood _ there and _ let her _-“ He broke off abruptly and ran a hand through his hair. There was a brief silence before he went on.

“I felt guilty because I let Bruce down. I failed him, because I _ did _ cross that line, and it shouldn’t have felt _ justified_. Because instead of letting Blockbuster continue to systematically destroy my life and hurt the people around me, I didn’t save him. I failed Bruce by not sacrificing _ my own life _ for a murderer.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like he’d been holding them in for ages, and Dick had to stop to catch his breath.

Slade let him gather his thoughts. Whether he intended it or not, Wayne’s own obsessive actions had ingrained a dangerous message in Dick’s head: _ the mission is more important than your life _. As a result he had grappled with feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing since he was a teen. Slade had known that for years. It was blatantly obvious from the complete lack of regard he had for his own life. And as hard as Dick tried to resolve those feelings by throwing himself into his work, when he inevitably failed to meet his own impossible standards he spiraled. 

Perhaps he was finally beginning to see the pattern himself.

Dick let out a deep breath, and finally looked back at Slade with tired eyes. “I get why Bruce has his code, I really do. I’m not sure he could cross that line and come out the same. But _ I _ can’t be like him, and I’m tired of feeling like a failure for prioritizing my own life above his mission.”

“You’re not a failure, kid.” Slade said with a sigh. He slid down on the couch next to Dick, and put a hand on his shoulder. There was no way to fix all the kid’s issues with a few words. It didn’t work like that. “It’s in your nature to help people. But you don’t owe the world your blood.” A realization dawned on Slade. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He mused after a moment.

Dick looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying, maybe Owlman isn’t the only Wayne you’re running from.”

Dick blinked at him, and there was a long pause before he spoke again. “Slade . . . what I meant before, about the warehouse. I wasn’t trying to insinuate . . . It’s just, they were your_ clients_.” 

“It’s okay. I get it.” He murmured. Slade had crossed a line of his own that night. Their relationship was never meant to influence their professional lives, and Slade had told Dick that from the start. When Deathstroke and Nightwing met in the field it would be as enemies. But Slade had broken his own rule. _ His _code. Evidently that had shocked Dick more than the deaths themselves. 

Dick nodded, and Slade wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. Dick let his head rest against Slade’s shoulder and he closed his eyes. 

“I missed you.” He said after a moment.

“So did I.”

They sat there for a while, and Slade eventually heard Dick’s breathing slow as he finally caved in to his exhaustion. Slade sighed. 

Despite his better judgement, Slade remained where he was, listening to the rhythmic beating of Dick’s heart. For just this moment he would enjoy the fragile peace, even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

* * *

The surveillance van was hardly ideal, but for the moment it suited Owlman’s needs. It was a nondescript white vehicle, with a forgettable logo proclaiming ‘Johnson _ & Sons Plumbing _’ emblazoned on the side in small black letters. The interior was hardly remarkable either. Thomas had outfitted it with what he could scramble together with the limited resources he had, but honestly, the computer was about the most high tech piece of equipment he currently had (with the exception of what little he brought over from his own Earth).

This was a new experience for him. Thomas had _ ruled _ his Gotham. He had wealth and power that other men could only dream of, and most of his enemies were long dead and buried. But here, all he had at his disposal was his own mind.

It was _ exhilarating. _

His own world was broken; something had died in their people long ago. But this Earth had life and passion. It promised a challenge that Owlman couldn’t wait to meet. 

But first he had work to do. Thomas knew there was still much to learn about this Earth. His grasp on the dynamics here was inadequate, and because of that he failed the very first step of his plan. But Thomas could adapt. And he knew what he had to do next.

Ultraman had mocked him when he made the effort to communicate with the natives. The man was so arrogant and short-sighted, he believed every problem could be solved with his own overwhelming physical force. Imagining him wasting away in that cell, powerless under the yellow solar rays that taxed his powers, well it almost made Thomas smile.

Owlman’s new allies were already proving useful. They had just sent over the file he had requested, and now he’d be able to discern just what he was dealing with here.

Thomas leaned in towards the laptop and clicked the dossier open, his eyes glowing in the pale light of the screen. The moniker was unfamiliar, but he recognized the the orange and black mask in the photo from the night before. Then Thomas scrolled to the next page and his eyes lit up in surprise when he recognized the name.

“Slade Wilson . . . ” The man who was Commander in Chief on his world was a mercenary here. The universe had a sense of humor, it seemed. 

This . . . was something he could work with.

The small space was suddenly filled with the jarring chime of a ringtone, and Thomas glanced over at a cheap burner phone laying next to the laptop. As he picked up and took the call, a slight smile spread across his lips. It seemed his new friends were ready to make a commitment.

“I knew you’d be interested in my offer . . . Let’s talk business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't don't usually do this kind of writing, so I hope this is flowing okay. I'm also having fun playing with Dick's feelings about Joker and Blockbuster. He has a very strong moral code, but it's different from Bruce's, and I thought it would be interesting to write about him figuring out where his own line was, exactly.
> 
> Next up: Dick makes a shocking discovery.


	3. Chapter 3

It was early when Slade finally headed back out to the sedan in the driveway, leaving Dick asleep on the couch. The safehouse was stocked for emergencies, but Slade wasn’t in the mood to dine on canned tuna and powdered milk, so he opted to make a quick supply run to the city square. 

The city was by no means large, but it had enough traffic to provide some anonymity, and Slade drew no more than a few curious glances as he parked the car and headed down to the grocery store. He didn’t anticipate a long stay, but he still took his time as he roamed down the aisles, diligently checking the dates and ingredients of each product before placing them inside his basket. Dick could joke all he wanted, but Slade enjoyed the peace offered by such simple moments. They provided some pretense of stability to the violent, tumultuous nature of his life. 

Slade paid the fumbling clerk in cash and headed back to the sedan with the paper bag secured under his arm. The morning bustle was beginning to pick up around him, and Slade was reminded that he had business of his own to attend to. He stowed the bag in the back before settling in the driver’s seat, then pulled out a cell phone and pressed the redial before pulling the car out onto the road with his free hand. 

A familiar voice greeted him after a few seconds. “Finally found the time to ring this old codger up, eh?”

Slade smiled. “Thanks for coming through on such short notice, Billy.” He said, relaxing back against the seat. There wasn’t a man alive that Slade trusted more than William Wintergreen. Billy had been a mentor back when Slade was just a young soldier, and later an invaluable partner as Slade began his career as a mercenary. He couldn’t count the number of times Billy had been there to pull his fat from the fire.

“Of course, whatever would you do without me.” Wintergreen replied dismissively. “Now would you care to tell me what the hell is going on _ this time _?”

“Just the usual shit show.” Slade said, waving on a rusted pickup before taking a left on Main.

He briefly recounted the night’s events to the older man, and after a moment of pause he heard Billy sigh. “Another fine mess you’ve found for yourself. What would you have me do?”

“Owlman’s going to need supplies and information.” Slade said. “He has no connections here, so he’ll have to start networking. Tell Scoops to put his ear to the ground. His contacts see anything even remotely owl shaped I want to know.”

“You’re going after him, then.” 

“Yes.” 

Wintergreen hummed on the other end of the line. “And does this decision have anything to do with the young vigilante you’re presently harboring?”

Slade grunted noncommittally, but he was spared from producing an answer when his phone suddenly buzzed with another incoming call. He glanced at the number and frowned. “I gotta go, Billy. Duty calls.”

Wintergreen made a sound of disdain. “Him again, is it? I really do detest that man.”

Slade couldn’t help but agree, but he’d put off this call long enough, and it was bad business to leave his clients waiting. He said, “I know. I’ll get back to you later,” then switched to the new caller. “Yeah?”

“You were supposed to contact me hours ago, Terminator.” Lex Luthor drawled from the other end of the line. He sounded irritated, but he usually did. 

“Something came up.” Slade responded, unfazed. Luthor was rich and had political clout, but Slade wasn’t one of his lackeys. He often tolerated Luthor’s behavior - more so than other clients - but Slade still had his limits.

“Something more important than the job you’re excessively charging me for?”

“You’re free to take your money elsewhere, Luthor.” Slade replied sharply. “But it was related. I had a run in with a member of the Syndicate. Heard of Owlman?”

That got Luthor’s attention. “I have.” He said. “Though it was my understanding that the JLA had the Syndicate contained . . . I shouldn’t be surprised those hypocrites would lie, though.” Luthor sounded almost gleeful for a moment. “What have you learned?”

“There’s a gateway linked to their energy signatures. Qwardian tech. Once activated it will pull them back to their Earth.” Slade said.

Luthor was silent for a moment before responding. “This gateway might be just what I’m looking for. Even if it can’t be reprogrammed, my people might be able to reverse engineer the technology.” He said. “I want it.”

“It’s been secured by the JLA.” Slade said. “It will be a challenge just to locate it.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’ve hired the world’s most _ expensive _mercenary then, isn’t it?” Luthor sneered. 

“Careful Luthor.” Slade replied in a low tone. “Even _ your _ money goes only so far.”

“My apologies, Mr. Wilson.” Luthor replied mockingly. “Would you _ please _ tell me how you plan to proceed?”

“There’s a key needed to activate it. Owlman has it.” 

“So you want to go after him.” There was another pause. “Fine, just get me some results. And Terminator? Don’t keep me waiting again.”

He snapped the burner phone shut and returned it to his pocket. Luthor was a pain in the ass. As far as Slade was concerned, just having to deal with the smug bastard was justification enough for his nine digit payout. And of course, things had become more complicated now. 

Something up ahead suddenly caught his eye; a lone figure, walking along the sidewalk-less road. The complication himself. Slade snorted as he pulled the car up beside him, rolling down the window. “Leaving so soon?” 

Dick shrugged at him, then strolled over and leaned casually against the window. “I was planning on stealing your car, but you woke up before me.” He said nonchalantly.

“That’s an interesting way of expressing gratitude.”

“You can afford it.” Dick said, then added, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Slade raised an eyebrow. “Well if you’re in such a rush to leave I won’t keep you. Enjoy your walk.” He paused, looking Dick over. “Unless you’d rather stay for breakfast.”

Dick appraised him silently for a long moment, then flashed him a wry grin. “Well, I guess I can’t turn down an offer like that.”

“Get in.”

Dick opened the passenger door and slipped into the seat beside him. Slade pulled back onto the road.

“Have you contacted Wayne yet?” Slade asked eventually.

“No.” Dick said flatly, staring ahead out the window.

Slade shot him a glance. “He’s probably searching for you.”

“I don’t want to work with him on this.”

“Not on speaking terms again?” Slade turned onto the private road that wound up to the safehouse.

“It’s not even that.” Dick said bitterly. ”Bruce is going to do what he always does. He’ll try to handle everything himself, and leave the rest of us in the dark.”

“Owlman could use that contention between the two of you to his advantage.” Slade murmured, and Dick glanced at him. 

“They’ve been playing cat and mouse since the Syndicate got here.” Dick said with a sigh. “I’m not going to be a pawn in their game.”

Slade pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. “You’ll be okay, kid. C’mon.” 

Dick nodded and followed him out of the car.

* * *

The penthouse of city councilman and CEO William Dawson had all the luxury of a victorian mansion. It was garishly decorated with iron wrought chandeliers and gold accented mahogany paneling. Dawson had inherited the apartment when his father died four years ago. It was his home away from home in the city. At least when he wasn’t spending his nights binging on cocaine and expensive prostitutes.

Blending into the shadows between the tapestries and heavy furniture was simple. Waiting for his quarry was less so. The morning’s turnout had been frustratingly fruitless. Owlman had vanished without a trace, and Deathstroke’s whereabouts were proving just as much of a challenge to uncover. Oracle established that Wilson had used an alias to enter Gotham on a privately chartered plane the night before, and proceeded to rent an SUV through yet another false identity. Despite catching a few glimpses of the vehicle via hacked traffic surveillance, there was no telling where Deathstroke went from there, and the car itself was found abandoned a few miles outside of Blüdhaven. 

Bruce needed to put an end to this before it got out of hand, and right now finding Dick was his priority. Tracking Deathstroke electronically had proven unsuccessful thus far, so it was time to try another approach.

Batman had been aware for years that the councilman was one of Deathstroke’s biggest clients in Gotham. The work Wilson did for him was generally executed overseas; Bruce had reason enough to believe the mercenary was the culprit behind a series of hits on several of Dawson’s foreign competitors. He had never pursued those suspicions, though. His hands were already full with Gotham.

Now he was wishing he had made Deathstroke a higher priority.

It was nearly half past six when Batman heard the jingle of keys from the hallway, followed by a shuffle as the councilman stumbled in through the door. Batman moved like a shadow behind him, and Dawson didn’t register his sudden approach until his arms were already pinned tightly behind him and his body was forced roughly against the wall.

“I know you have a direct line to Deathstroke.” Batman growled quietly into his ear. “I want it.” 

The man shouted a curse in surprise, so Batman pulled harder at the awkward angle he had the arm locked in. Finally Dawson managed to gasp a full sentence. “You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?” He insisted, craning his head back to get a look at his intruder. Batman let him, and when Dawson realized just who his assailant was he looked even more startled. “You’re the Bat! I’m not a criminal! Why are you here?”

“Deathstroke. A number. Now.” Batman said in a dangerously low voice, baring his teeth. 

Dawson balked. “The Terminator?” He said as his eyes widened in fear. “I-I Can’t! He’ll kill me!”

Batman dragged Dawson around so they were face to face; a gauntleted hand gripped the collar of his shirt threateningly. “You should be more concerned about what _ I’ll _ do to you.”

Dawson did his best to sneer through his fear. “You don’t kill! Everyone knows that.”

“Maybe you’re right. Or maybe not. Is that a chance you want to take?” Batman said, slowly wrapping a hand around Dawson’s throat. The man certainly looked more frightened, but still seemed hesitant to talk. Deathstroke had a reputation, so maybe it was time to place pressure somewhere else.

Batman pushed him to the floor and loomed over him. “I wonder if your shareholders would be interested to learn just how much money you’ve embezzled from Dawson Corp.” He said as the councilman tried to crawl away. “I know the FBI would be.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Dawson said uncertainty.

“I have enough evidence to put you away for years.” Batman bluffed. “Have you ever been to Blackgate, Dawson?” He bared his teeth at the man with a glare. “You won’t like it.”

“You can’t! Please!”

“Deathstroke.” Dawson didn’t reply, so Batman pushed down on his chest with a heavy boot. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Fine, I’ll give you what you want! Just don’t tell him I gave you the number!”

* * *

The sun was high by the time Dick finally convinced Slade to let him see the basement.

The room looked like it belonged in a military compound rather than a small house in the suburbs. The lead lined walls were covered in an assortment of mounted arms of every kind, from submachine guns to broadswords. Dick caught the sightless gaze of one of Slade’s spare armored masks.

“Jesus, Slade.” Dick murmured, turning to run a hand along the cylindrical body of an anti-tank missile launcher. “Planning on invading New Jersey, are we?”

“You can never be too prepared.” Slade said, arms crossed as he watched Dick tour the room. 

“Well I think you’re pretty close.” 

Dick stopped to examine the computer consul in the center of the room. He had to admit, Slade’s tech was just as high end as Bruce’s. It shouldn’t have been a surprise considering the ungodly amount of money Slade charged for his services.

“So what have you been doing the last few months?” Dick asked casually, turning his attention back to Slade.

“had a job in Sudan, then spent some time in Kitale.”

“Do any hunting?”

Slade gave him shark-like grin. “Not the kind you’re thinking of. But I did snare a few cattle raiders.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Oh, does that pay well? Or do you do pro bono work now?”

“I got real estate there, kid. Pays to keep the locals happy.” Slade replied.

Dick opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden ringing of a phone. 

They were both silent for a moment, then Slade pulled out his phone. He took in the number flashing across the screen, pausing only to give Dick a quizzical glance before he finally answered the call. “Let me guess, you got to Dawson.” He offered as greeting.

Dick couldn’t hear the response, but he had an idea of the caller’s identity. His suspicion was confirmed when Slade tossed him the phone. “It’s for you.” He said dryly, before walking away.

Dick snatched it with his good hand and sighed. He’d been hoping he’d have a little more time before dealing with this. “Bruce.” He acknowledged.

The low growl of the responding voice was just about what Dick had expected. “_Where _are you?”

“I’m fine, okay?”

“_Where_?”

Dick glanced over at Slade, who had strolled to the other side of the room. He was leaning back leisurely in a chair, opening a bottle of gun oil for his barretta. Dick decided to ignore Bruce’s question. “Did you find Owlman?” He asked. Bruce paused for a moment on the other end. 

“No.” Bruce’s tone was dark, and Dick could just imagine the scowl currently stretching across his face “He’s in the wind. Oracle has been actively scanning for any sign of him.” Along with Deathstroke, Dick added mentally. 

“He’s good.” Dick mused. “It won’t be easy to track him down, especially considering how much he knows.”

“We’ll figure this out, Dick, but first you need to come back to Gotham. Owlman might know our identities, but that doesn’t mean he can get to us if we stick together. I won’t let another attack like this happen.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Bruce.” Dick said sharply. “I can handle this myself.”

“Yourself?” Bruce challenged. “Or with Deathstroke?”

Dick felt that familiar prickle of irritation that often arose when he spoke to Bruce. “Don’t bring him into this.” He snapped back. “If he hadn’t been there we would be in a very different situation right now.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not having this argument right now. We need to focus on Owlman, and figure out what he’s planning now that he’s escaped.”

“How did he escape, anyways?” Dick asked with a frown. “JLA security should have been airtight. It’s the same tech we-” He broke off, having answered his own question. Some of the equipment Thomas carried had been nearly identical in design to their own. It was entirely possible that Owlman was as intimately familiar with the systems as Bruce was himself. “He knew about the failsafes.”

It wasn’t like Bruce to overlook a detail like that. Not when he had been personally responsible for security oversight. He should have known Owlman could take advantage of that knowledge. An unsettling thought suddenly popped into Dick’s mind.

“You knew that, though, didn’t you?” He accused slowly. “You knew he would escape.” 

Bruce was silent, and Dick immediately knew his accusation was correct. He felt his chest tighten as the realisation gripped him. “How could you do this? What the hell were you thinking?!” 

There was a long pause. “I didn’t know he’d come after you.” Bruce finally said.

Dick had to stop to process his words. “No, I know exactly what you thought.” He said, trying to force down the hot wave in his chest down and failing to keep the emotion out of his voice. “You thought he’d go after the gateway. Free the syndicate and escape to his own Earth.”

“They were _ routed_.” Bruce responded, voice strained. “He had no other play. This was his only opportunity to activate the gateway and free them. It was the logical move”

“And that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? You disagreed with the League’s decision to keep them here in custody!” 

“They don’t belong on this Earth!” Bruce snapped. “They’re too dangerous to be kept here.”

“You went behind their backs! You decided you knew what was best for everyone else! Just like you always do. And this time you screwed up!” Dick said furiously. “You got so wrapped up playing mind games with Owlman that you never realized this wasn’t about the Syndicate’s victory for him. He doesn’t _ care _ about them or defeating the League. And if you had stopped for one damn minute and talked to me I could have told you that.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again Dick could hear the tension in his voice as he tried to contain his anger. “I admit . . . I miscalculated. But we can discuss it later. Right now I need you to come home-”

“No.”

“Dick-”

“Screw you, Bruce! I can’t believe you’d pull something like this. After everything that’s happened. After what happened to _ Stephanie_.” 

“This is nothing like that.” Bruce hissed in a dangerous tone.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Dick. I need you here. I need Nightwing.” 

“Well I don’t need you.” Dick said quietly. “I’m done, Bruce. I quit.”

There was a long pause. “You’re angry. I understand that. But let me-”

Dick cut him off. “Goodby Bruce.” He said, then without another word he snapped the phone shut.

Dick just stood there for a time, breathing deeply as his pulse raced. It was a moment before he realized Slade was beside him again. As he glanced up to meet Slade’s eye, he could tell the mercenary had probably heard the entire conversation. Dick looked away, pressed the phone in Slade’s hand, and went back up the stairs.

* * *

Bruce could feel Barabara looking at him as the line went dead.

“Well that could have gone better.” She said, disapproval coloring her words.

“Did you get a location?” He asked through gritted teeth, despite knowing full well that she hadn’t.

“Not unless they’re in Kazakhstan.” Barbara replied, adjusting her glasses. “You know he had a point. You kind of screwed the pooch on this one, Bruce.” 

Bruce ignored her, and turned to stare out the round clock tower window. It wasn’t often he found himself there during the daylight hours; it was strange watching the bustle below. He heard Barbara sigh beside him. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but at least Dick’s safe for now.” She offered. 

“He isn’t. Not with _ him _.” Bruce growled back, not taking his eyes from the street. 

“Dick’s not in physical harm for the moment. Once he calms down we’ll have a better chance of talking him back.” Barbara replied calmly. 

“After what happened in Blüdhaven . . . his emotional state is vulnerable. I won’t have him influenced by the likes of Slade Wilson.” Bruce should never have let it get to this point. He should have done more to help Dick, but it seemed whenever he tried it just pushed the boy further away. And now he was trusting Deathstroke. A man who murdered without batting an eye. A man who killed his _ own _ son.

“Dick’s too stubborn to be influenced. He can make his own decisions.” Barbara said. 

Bruce grunted, and then after a moment he finally turned back to her, deciding to change the subject. “Dick said Owlman doesn’t care about the Syndicate. Or beating the league.”

Barbara tapped the arm of her chair thoughtfully. “He went after Dick instead of the gate. Sounds personal.”

“The Gotham of Earth-3 is in bad shape. Perhaps Thomas Wayne thought he could make a new start here.” Bruce said.

“Well unlike some of the other dopplegangers, he can’t pass as Bruce Wayne. Even if he managed to get you out of the way, he still wouldn’t have access to the money or your control over Wayne Enterprises. But Dick . . .” 

“Dick’s my sole heir.” Bruce finished with a frown. He was in the process of adopting Tim as well, but it wouldn’t be official for some time. Legally, if Bruce was to drop dead at that moment, Dick would become the primary beneficiary of his estate. If Owlman sought to take over Bruce’s life, it was not outside the realm of possibility that he thought he’d could seize control through Dick. 

“It’s not a bad plan.” Barbara said darkly. “Capture Dick and kill you. Even if Dick won’t cooperate there are other ways . . . Clayface, Hatter.” She paused for a moment. “Sounds like a plausible motive.”

“It doesn’t matter what his motive is. I won’t let him anywhere Dick.” Bruce said, pulling the cowl back over his head. The lead hadn’t brought him closer, but he still had other options. It was time to try a new approach. “And I won’t let Deathstroke have him either.”

* * *

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. To find Owlman.” Dick said without looking up as he kneeled down in the living room and ruffled through his duffel bag. The chest piece and escrima sticks of his Nightwing suit lay at his side.

Slade sighed. “Dick.”

Dick didn’t respond, and Slade walked over, pulling a gauntlet from his hand. Dick turned on him, reaching for the escrima beside him. “Hey!”

“Kid, you’re not going to solve anything by running off half-cocked.” Slade said calmly. “You don’t know where he is or what he’s planning.”

“I don’t care.” 

“Let me help.”

“Why?” Dick hissed, jumping to his feet. The escrima stick was still in his hand. “So you have leverage for whatever contract you’ve taken?”

Slade crossed his arms and stared at him impassively. Dick stared back for a moment, then tossed the escrima back to the floor and turned back to dig through the bag some more.

“Look, I’ve been there, kid. I know what it's like when everything starts spinning out of control, and you just can’t put out all the fires. You need to pull back. Regroup.”

“It’s not that simple.” Dick muttered.

“I know it isn’t, but as long as you’re just reacting you’ll never get ahead of it. You’ll never get control.”

“Owlman _ attacked _ me in my own home. _ This is _ how I get control!” 

“Not if you play right into his hands. Don’t let them dictate how this plays out. You said you’re not a pawn, so don’t act like one.”

Dick stared at Slade for several moments. Then abandoned his efforts at the bag and stood up. The anger seemed to drain from him on the spot. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Slade.” He said. “Lately it seems like every decision I make is the wrong one.” 

“You spread yourself too thin, kid.” Slade said “You need to center yourself.”

Dick was silent for a moment, then looked Slade suspiciously. “Why are you helping me?” He demanded.

“You know why.” Slade said quietly. 

Dick looked away to hide his uncertainty. “I’m not sure I do.” 

Slade regarded him for a moment, and if Dick didn’t know better he would have thought he saw something soft in his gaze. “You don’t see it, do you? What you have. What you could do.” Slade said gently. “Owlman . . . Batman . . . They want to clip your wings, little bird. Wayne wants his obedient soldier, but you’ve got too much damn potential to be wasted like that. You don’t belong in a shadow.” 

He looked away from Slade, feeling something twist in his gut. Something like shame, or maybe guilt. “You’re wrong.” He choked out. “You don’t know . . . I’ve screwed up so much. I failed them all.”

“No, they’ve failed you.” Slade said, voice suddenly harsh. “Wayne would rather have a martyr than a son. He proved that the moment he sent a ten year old out to fight his war.”

Dick was taken aback. “It’s not like that. He gave me a purpose.”

“He gave you _ his _ purpose.” Slade retorted. “It’s hurting you, kid. I’m not blind, I can see what you’re doing to yourself. But there’s nothing to punish yourself for, and if you keep going on like this you’ll wind up dead. Is that what you want?”

“No, but I’ve-

Slade interrupted him. “I don’t give a shit about what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter. _ I _ already know what you are.” Dick blinked at him, but Slade held his gaze firmly. “You’ve always been your own worst enemy, Grayson. You need to come to terms with your demons and move on. Unless you’d rather crawl back to Wayne and beg for forgiveness.”

“No.”

“Then decide what you _ do _want and take it.”

Dick nodded at him as he took in the words, then without warning he threw his arms around the mercenary's neck. Slade’s surprise lasted only as long as it took for Dick’s lips to reach his, and he immediately reciprocated the kiss, wrapping an arm around Dick’s back and pulling him closer. 

When Dick pulled his head to the side to take in a deep breath, Slade’s mouth found the crook of his neck. Dick shuddered, and clung more tightly. When they had first gotten together, being with Slade had been an adrenaline rush. The danger was a thrill, like that moment in free fall. But something had changed. And at that moment, Slade felt more like an anchor. Something sturdy he could lean against. _ And he needed that. _

“I don’t believe I’ve shown you the bedroom yet.” Slade breathed into his neck. Dick felt a hand curl through his hair.

Dick leaned into the touch and sighed. “Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and kudos!
> 
> Next Chapter: Dick makes a decision.


	4. Chapter 4

Dick was in Bludhaven. 

He didn’t recognize the alley he was standing in at that moment, but he knew it was Bludhaven.

Dense clouds hung high above him, swirling sluggishly along the edges of rooftops in the dim light of a bloated red moon. The buildings themselves loomed impossibly high; windows stared down at him keenly. The city was hungry.

Some part of Dick’s brain told him there was no way to the rooftops, although he wasn’t quite sure why.

And that puzzled him. He was wearing his Nightwing suit, and Nightwing was supposed to fly.

But he was grounded, so he shivered and looked into the alleyway. It was brighter than it should have been during the night; the red moon shone down on him like a spotlight. And Nightwing could hear nothing but silence around him.

No rumble of traffic or sirens or gulls. Just a low persistent thrumming that didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere at all. A sound that told him he needed to move.

Nightwing heeded the instinct.

The alley led to another narrow street. It felt familiar - he may have walked it before - but he couldn’t place the location. Nightwing frowned and glanced down at his wrist, tapping at the computer built into his gauntlet. When the screen finally lit up it was flickering with static. 

“Help me.” A quiet voice said behind him.

Nightwing spun around. A young boy stood about ten feet away from him in the center of the path. He was maybe eleven or twelve, and Dick could _ almost _ recognize him as one of the local neighborhood kids. Bludhaven born and bred.

“Please help me.” The kid said again. 

Nightwing smiled at him reassuringly and took a step forward. “What’s wrong?” He asked calmly as he looked the boy over. He couldn’t make out any obvious signs of injury.

The boy stared at him blankly.

“Are you alright?” Nightwing asked, palms up in a placating gesture, taking another step towards him. “What’s your name?”

“We need you.” The boy finally said, and he reached behind his back.

The harsh glint of steel made Nightwing freeze. His muscles tensed automatically; instinct trying to lead him before his mind had even caught up. But something wouldn’t let him move.

The gunshots resounded overwhelmingly loud in the silence. They rang out one after another, echoing endlessly in the sky like fireworks. Heat spread across Nightwing’s chest, and he spun around blindly as his other senses were suddenly overwhelmed.

Eventually the shots died down to a high pitched wail in his ears. He tried to slow his breathing as the world came back into focus around him. He realized he was leaning against the alley wall. Nightwing didn’t look, but he knew the boy was gone.

He pressed a hand to his sternum, then glanced down. Ribbons of blood eclipsed the blue emblem on his chest, running red down to the ground. Nightwing gasped and pulled himself up straight, turning to find himself facing a stairwell. Blood spatter flecked the cold metal walls. It covered his hands.

Nightwing tried to back away, and stumbled over something large. He landed on his hands and knees, and was suddenly face to face with Roland Desmond. Blockbuster’s opaque eyes stared into his blankly. Blood dripped down over his brows from the bullet hole in his forehead. Nightwing cried out in surprise and jerked away, crawling back before he managed to pull himself back up to his feet.

Blockbuster’s blood encrusted hand was raised slightly, as though he were trying to reach out. Nightwing was unable to look away from Desmond’s waxy face as he tried to catch is breath. He was dead. Nothing but a corpse. Nothing to fear . . . 

It began to rain.

It came on suddenly, with no more preamble than a few heavy drops landing on his shoulders before it was downpouring. Nightwing watched for a moment, mesmerized as rain mixed with blood, washing it down along the cement in a crimson stream.

The patter of rain came to a crescendo; roaring in his ears. He could feel the water trickle down the skin below his mask.

Nightwing felt sick. The alleyway was getting too narrow; the buildings were leaning in closer - surrounding him. Their windows were looking at him greedily. He needed to run. He needed to escape, but there was nowhere to go. The city was all around him; he was encircled by it. 

As the rain continued to fall around him, streams of red poured down his chest like a wound that wouldn’t close. The city shuddered.

“Help me.” Bludhaven rasped out over the rain. 

Nightwing doubled over as he felt his body burn in sudden pain. He pressed his hands to his chest, letting out a surprised cry. The blood on his suit was his own. That’s right . . . he had been shot, hadn’t he? He held his hand down on the wound, trying to apply pressure. He needed to stop the blood flow . . . He needed to find help.

A hand grabbed his bicep, and Dick spun around in surprise. Roy Harper stood before him, a grim expression plastered under his sopping auburn hair.

“Roy!” Nightwing managed to gasp, feeling a flicker of hope. “Roy . . . I’m bleeding.” 

“We need you, Nightwing.” Arsenal replied.

Nightwing blinked in confusion. “I can’t help you.” He stammered. “I-I’ve been shot…” He was beginning to feel light-headed. 

Roy pulled away from him with something cold and angry glinting in his eyes. “We needed you.” He said before turning his back.

“Wait!” Nightwing grabbed Roy’s arm, and his friend let out a shriek of pain, recoiling as though burned by the touch. Nightwing lurched away in surprise, then let out a gasp. Roy’s arm was beginning to turn a strange shade of gray, as though decaying at an impossible speed. The atrophy creeped up his arm, spreading across his chest and over his face. Nightwing felt a wave of panic.

“No!” He yelled, trying to catch Roy’s body as he collapsed to the ground. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Nightwing. Help us.”

There were windows and eyes all around him. Shadows called to him from his peripheral, taking familiar shapes as they flickered just out of sight. Roy’s body flitted through his hands like sand.

Nightwing fell to his knees. He’d been shot. He’d lost blood. He could see it pooling beneath his legs. He could feel shadows gathering closer around him. 

“Get up, Nightwing.” He heard Bruce say. “There’s work to do.” Nightwing looked up, and Batman towered over him, cast in shadow. Bludhaven hovered behind him, its buildings bending to peer at Nightwing from over Bruce’s shoulders. 

“I can’t. It hurts.” Nightwing said. “I’m so tired.”

Bruce stared down at him coldly, then turned away with a sweep of his cape. Dick reached out a hand; he wanted to call him back, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

The shadows around him were stirring hungrily. 

“Help us.” They called in chorus. 

Nightwing tried to find his footing, but they were too close to him now. He could almost see their faces - pick out their voices. He tried not to hear Maxine Michaels’ cry. He closed his eyes when Donna reached out despite the gaping hole that had been burned through her chest.

He kept his eyes closed tight as rain poured around him. 

“Nightwing . . .”

“Please . . . “

He ignored them. Tried to center himself. Dick had been trained to stave off fear gas. He could handle a nightmare. He could take control . . . He could-

“Querido . . . “ 

“Dick.”

He opened his eyes. Slade was laying beside him, head propped up by an elbow. He was watching Dick curiously.

Dick let his head drop against his pillow and exhaled deeply, pulling the comforter up to his neck and closing his eyes.

He could feel Slade still watching him, so after a moment he opened one eye to glance at him. “What?” He said.

Slade shifted so that he was on his side, then he took Dick’s forearm in his hand. “Your heart rate’s elevated.” He said, rubbing a thumb in circles along Dick’s wrist.

Dick snorted, but didn’t pull away. “I know. It was just a dream.” He said casually. 

Slade hummed in reply, then curled an arm around Dick’s waist to draw him closer. 

Dick let his head rest back against Slade’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He could feel warm breath against the back of his head, and he matched the pace with his own until he felt most of his unease drain away. Until he could force the image of blood out of his mind.

Slade’s hand was a steady pressure at his side. Dick focused on the weight to bring him back to the present.

He supposed it should have been odd. Since that night in Bludhaven, Dick had been possessed by doubt. He didn’t know if he could trust his own mind anymore. He wasn’t sure he could connect again. He thought something in him might have broke.

And there had been a brief moment of fear. Dick didn’t know if he could handle being so close to another. He was afraid something would stir the feelings he had buried - that something as simple as a touch would send him back to that rooftop. Dick was afraid he’d lose it and have to run again.

But this was Slade. When they were that close, his presence demanded his full attention; it kept Dick from straying to those dark places in his head. Everything but the moment could slide away, and he could forget about his failures and shortcomings and obligations. 

Maybe it was because Slade lived somewhere gray. There were no expectations. Dick didn’t need to be the dutiful leader or a good soldier. The lives he was unable to save didn’t make him a failure. His worth wasn’t conditional. It made it so easy to sink into the physical contact. To meld into the anonymity that Slade’s safe house provided. Off the grid where his people couldn’t find him. Where they couldn’t ask any more of him, and he couldn’t disappoint. 

Where he didn’t have to be Nightwing.

The thought made Dick pause. When had he started thinking of Nightwing as a separate entity? That was something Bruce did, not him. Nightwing was meant to be the cumulation of Dick’s growth. A celebration of both his autonomy and the legacies that put him on his path.

He never wanted to be like Bruce. Bruce had to rip out a piece of his soul just to survive . . . Dick had sworn he would never . . .

He saw a flash of crimson spray across blue in his mind. Dick couldn’t tell if it was a memory from his dream or real life. He decided it didn’t matter.

Nightwing had lost too much. He tried so hard to follow the code, but so many of his loved ones were dead now; the rest were driven away. And Nightwing . . . Nightwing was damaged . . . 

A few hours ago Dick had told Bruce that he was done. In of itself it was hardly a unique exchange between them (Dick couldn’t recall exactly how many times he had quit or been fired) but maybe there really was a way to escape. 

Maybe he could rip the darkness from his soul as well.

“Where’re you at, kid?” Slade murmured. They had been silent for several minutes now.

Dick didn’t respond right away. Instead he wondered, not for the first time, just what he thought he was going to accomplish here. He needed something more before he threw it all away. He needed something more from Slade.

He turned so he could look Slade in the eye. “What are we doing? What is this?”

Slade blinked at him. “That’s up to you, kid.” He said after a moment, settling back against the mattress. 

Dick sighed in frustration. “When we first got together you told me this was nothing.” He hissed, propping himself over Slade’s bare chest. “You said you didn’t want anything more.” Slade didn’t respond, so Dick pressed on. “I need to know, is that still true? Is this nothing?”

There was a long pause before Slade finally spoke. “No.” He said quietly. “It’s not nothing.” His ice blue eye bore into Dick’s own gaze, and he brushed his hand along Dick’s cheek and down to his jaw. “But I won’t lie to you. You know what I am. And I can’t change that.”

“I know.” Dick murmured back. “I can’t either.” Slade’s hand trailed to the back of his neck. “And I . . . “ he broke off as Slade tilted his head so their lips could meet. Dick’s eyes fluttered shut and his thoughts darted away as he melted into the kiss. it was only a few seconds before Slade withdrew, but Dick already felt flushed.

“And you what, little bird?” He said sweetly.

“I . . . “ Dick started, floundering as he tried to recover his faculties. 

“What do you need?” Slade asked patiently.

Dick paused. What _ did _he need? At that moment, laying in Slade’s bed felt like enough. But he couldn’t hide forever. At some point he’d have to face reality, and if he was going to be able to move forward with Slade there would need to be something more.

“Tell me about your contract.” Dick finally said.

It wasn’t something he would have asked for before. That was never what their relationship was. But something was changing. And if there was any way for it to work Dick needed to know everything. No lies or half truths. 

Slade answered without pause. “I’m working for Lex Luthor.”

Dick blinked. “Luthor?”

He got a shrug in response. “He pays well.” Slade said gruffly, and he shifted to sit up straight so Dick pulled off of him. “You can accept it or not, kid. As I said before this is all up to you.”

“I . . . guess I knew you had an angle from the start.” Dick said after a moment, leaning back on an arm. “What does Luthor want?” He glanced up at Slade, half wondering if he’d answer.

“The Gateway.” Slade said, crossing his arms. 

Dick frowned. “Why?”

“Not my business. I do the job I’m paid for and that’s it.”

“And you’re okay sharing all this with me?” Dick asked, narrowing his eyes.

Slade tilted his head at him. “I am.” He said calmly. “Because if you did try to stop me you’d fail.”

Dick snorted and swatted Slade’s shoulder, despite knowing full well that his words were nothing but serious. Still, Dick appreciated the honesty. Slade had never lied to him, not when it came to their personal lives. For better or for worse, Dick always knew where he stood, and that could be grounding when so many of his relationships had grown tumultuous.

Slade caught Dick’s chin, drawing back his attention. “I can’t promise it will turn out right. But I’m here if that’s what you want.” He murmured.

Dick met his gaze, then nodded. He wasn’t sure if it would work either, but it felt right, and Dick was tired of isolating himself. He wrapped his arms around Slade’s neck and pulled himself closer. The comforter rolled down his hips, and Slade wrapped an arm around his waist. 

Bludhaven and Gotham may as well have been a million miles away at that moment. Dick let himself forget, and closed his eyes in content.

* * *

Slade needed a haircut. It was beginning to curl just above his jaw. Nearly long enough to tie back.

He had grown it out years ago, shortly after his debut as Deathstroke. It seemed impractical now, but it had been the first time in Slade’s life that he had complete autonomy over his life. He had barely turned sixteen back when he lied about his age to join the army. It had seemed like a way out. Back when Slade thought hell was a life trapped in a hick town with his drunkard father.

His way out turned out to be a path paved in blood. And Slade excelled. He committed atrocities on the orders of men he would never meet. He let them alter the chemistry of his own body. 

Deathstroke changed that. Slade was finally his own man, and he alone would choose where to aim his gun. 

And the hair? Well, it wasn’t army regulation. 

Slade met his own gaze in the bathroom mirror; it was fogged up around the edges from the steam. After Dick left him in the shower, Slade had turned the heat up all the way. The burn of scalding water felt good against his back. It helped him clear his head.

He took his time getting dressed, checked his phone for messages, then headed out of the bathroom. He found Dick sitting on the couch in the parlor, expression unreadable as he stared at the Nightwing suit in his hands.

“Going out?” Slade asked, bracing against the doorframe. 

Dick shook his head without looking up. “No.” He said after a moment. He traced his hand along the blue insignia blazoned across the chest piece, then he tossed the suit on the cushion beside him. “I meant what I said to Bruce. I won’t wear it again.”

Slade tilted his head. “I can’t really see you going civilian, kid.” People like them rarely did. Something always drew them back.

Dick let out a bitter laugh. “I tried once. Didn’t stick.” He glanced up at Slade with a wry smile. “What about you? Ever think about retiring? You must have the money for it.”

Slade snorted as he strolled over to sit down on the armchair beside him. “And do what? Take up golf?” He said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m good at what I do. I enjoy the challenge.”

“Really? Because you spent years trying to take down a group of superpowered teenagers.” Dick reminded him.

“What can I say?” Slade said with a chuckle. “You were a challenge.” Dick rolled his eyes, but offered no response, so Slade pressed on after a moment. “So what do you plan to do then?”

Dick met his gaze for a moment before shrugging and looking away. “I’m sure there are plenty of places that could use my kind of help.” He said noncommittally.

“So that’s it, then.” Slade mused. “New city, new costume, same story?” 

That got him a sharp glare. “It doesn’t have to be that way.” Dick said, narrowing his eyes. 

Slade looked him over thoughtfully. “Don’t kid yourself. You’re falling into your old patterns, Grayson.” Dick merely frowned at him, so Slade continued. “You’ve gone from Gotham to New York to Bludhaven. At some point you need to realize that changing the venue doesn’t fix the problems you’re trying to run from.”

“I’m not running from anything.” Dick grumbled, and he crossed his arms and looked away. Slade resisted the urge to sigh. “I just need a fresh start.”

Slade stared at him for a moment. “It won’t change anything. And you know that.”

“So what do I do then? Be like you, Slade?” Dick hissed at him. “Who gives a shit if the world burns around me, so long as I get my paycheck, right?”

“Is that what you think?” Slade asked, crossing his arms. He wasn’t going to take the comment to heart; not when it was meant to sting. He knew the kid’s MO. His need to lashed out when others got too close to those raw feelings. To push away and protect himself from the truth.

Dick glared at him for a moment, then exhaled sharply. “No.” He admitted after a moment, and his shoulders went slack. “But I’m not sure how to . . .” He glanced back at Slade. “This is all I know.” 

And Slade understood. Years ago he was promised the opportunity to fight for something greater than himself. To be a hero. And he learned the hard way that it was a siren’s song. One that promised righteousness, and brought nothing but blood.

When he was around eighteen there had been a soldier in his unit by the name of Dave Founders. Slade could barely recall his face after so many years, but there were a few details still etched in his memory. He remembered that Davey could play a mean game of poker (Slade once lost half a month’s earnings to the man), and that he used to laugh at his own jokes. And he remembered that time Davey bought teddy bears for every kid in that shithole village they occupied.

Slade had been assigned to that unit for about eight months when they were ordered to escort a noncombatant and his convoy across enemy lines. They were advised that the man was a dignitary with a mission of crucial importance to United States’ interests in the war torn country. That it was vital he reach his destination safely.

Three days into the op they were caught in an enemy ambush. Flanked on both sides they had no choice but to make a tactical retreat, but the dignitary fell behind after taking a shot to the arm. Davey was the first to reach him, and from Slade’s distance, all he could do was yell “Grenade!” when he saw the explosive launched at the two men. The dignitary ran; Davey jumped. 

The brunt of the blast was taken by the body encasing it. Slade and his unit were just able to pull the dignitary to his feet and escape, and what remained of Davey was left to rot in enemy territory. His widow was given a medal for her trouble.

He found out later that the “dignitary” was a weapons dealer endorsed by his commanders to arm rebels in the South. The plan was to cause just enough political instability to weaken the center of power, allowing them the opportunity to route their enemies once and for all. They eventually succeeded; the regime was toppled. And the village Slade’s unit occupied was wiped out by the end of the war.

Slade had been reassigned long before that point. He was in a new country, killing new people, under new superiors. Years passed before he really allowed himself to think about Dave Founders again. When he was older, stronger, and sporting orange and black. When he took a contract for that dealer’s head.

There’s no justice in the world. Only blood spilled for blood. Only retaliation. But it felt good driving his sword through the man’s chest. And as he did it, Slade thought of all the dumb kids he had known over the years. The ones who had died for a cause they were told to believe in. Who died for nothing.

Slade sighed, and leaned forward, resting his palms against the top of his legs. Dick was just another one of those dumb kids. Another soldier. And it didn’t matter how just the Bat believed his cause to be. Without question, Dick Grayson would jump on those grenades. 

“I told you before,” Slade finally said. “I’ll help you. You’re too good to be wasted on drug dealers and gangbangers, anyways.”

Dick looked at him skeptically and leaned back on the couch. “I know you’re not suggesting I become an assassin.” He said dryly.

“I take on a wide range of contracts. You know that.” Slade responded nonchalantly. “And whatever you do, you’ll have operating expenses. Work one good job with me and you’ll never need to see another cent of daddy’s money again.” Slade wanted to help the kid, he really did. But he also knew an opportunity when he saw one. 

Dick scowled at the comment, but Slade could see he was thinking. “It’s not . . . how I operate.” He said after a moment.

Slade snorted. “You mean illegally and unpaid?”

The kid actually looked insulted. “Illegally- Jesus, Slade, you kill people!” 

Slade tilted his head. “Doesn’t change reality, kid. If we were both arrested today I’d be out in an hour. You’d get a few decades of time on assault charges alone . . . that is if they didn’t send you to Arkham.”

“That’s because you play the system.” Dick argued. “You take advantage of the corruption.”

“There’s nothing _ but _ corruption.” Slade pointed out.

Dick waved a hand dismissively. “And getting paid for it is just . . . wrong.”

Slade rolled his eye. “There’s nothing wrong about getting compensated for your work.” He said, but Dick didn’t look convinced. “Police officers get paid. Doctors get paid. Have a problem with that?”

“No, but it’s different.” Dick said stubbornly. “And it shouldn’t be about money.”

“It’s not about money.” Slade replied sharply. “Not fundamentally, at least.” He paused for a moment. “It’s about the contract.”

“The contract?” Dick echoed.

Slade nodded. “Kid, I’ve spent my whole life fighting other people’s battles. Before, I did it because I was ordered to. Because I was a soldier and that was my duty. To kill and die on command.” He said. “But now it’s my _choice_. And _that’s _ what the contract is. It’s control. It’s my consent.” Slade met Dick’s gaze evenly as he spoke. It was bullshit, really. But it fit the narrative he wanted to push.

Dick looked up at the ceiling. Slade’s was beginning to think the conversation might be over when he finally spoke. “So not an assassin. Just a mercenary. That’s your suggestion?” He said. His words suggested the idea was absurd, but he just sounded tired when he spoke them.

Slade snorted. “I said work a job with me. You’d make a shit mercenary.”

Dick‘s eyes snapped back to his with irritation. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too stubborn. Everything has to be on your terms. And a mercenary needs to complete the contract - prioritise the mission above everything else. You’d get distracted by so much as a kitten stuck in a tree.” He met Dick’s glare evenly. “But I’m sure I could find something we could work with. Something that would satisfy your . . . humanitarian inclinations.”

Dick continued to narrow his eyes at him for a moment. “You’re a jerk.” He finally said.

Slade’s mouth curled into a slight smile. “You can think about it.” Slade said, patting his knee before checking his watch. “In the meantime I have to make a call to Luthor. He’s informed me that he has a lead.”

Dick groaned. “He’s the worst. Why are you working for him?”

“I told you, he’s rich.” Slade said noncommittally.

Dick rolled his eyes, and Slade heard him mutter something about it not being about money. As Slade headed out of the room he jumped up to his feet and hurried after him, though . “Mind if I listen in?” He asked, giving Slade a peculiar look.

Slade raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a moment. “Fine.” He said with a shrug.

Dick beamed at him. “Great. 

Ten minutes later they were back in Slade’s armory. The communications network was secure, and Dick had settled in a chair out of the camera’s view. The vigilante shot him a grin, and Slade initiated the video call to Lex Luthor.

“Terminator.” The CEO of LexCorp offered in greeting as his face flashed up on the monitor.

“Luthor.” Slade replied curtly.

“I appreciate you returning my call.” Luthor drawled, not sounding particularly grateful at all.

Slade decided to forgo the small talk. “You said you had a lead.” 

The lines around Luthor’s face creased as he frowned. “Before we get into that, there’s one other matter I’d like to discuss.” He replied.

Slade stared at him impassively. Luthor’s lip curled in a sneer and he eventually he continued. “I received a call from one of my business associates in Gotham. It seems _ Batman _paid him a visit last night. And he was looking for you.” He said curtly.

Slade frowned, allowing a tense pause before speaking. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, Luthor.” He said in a low tone.

“It certainly is. Dawson is part of _ my _ network. His political standing in Gotham is crucial to LexCorp’s continued influence there.” He paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently. “It’s a very . . . delicate ecosystem that we’ve established here, Terminator. We are legitimate businessmen, not common thugs, and we retain your services to keep that _ element _ off our backs.”

Slade felt his jaw clench as Lex continued. “I don’t know what has landed you on the Bat’s radar,” Luthor said, pausing just long enough to make Slade wonder if that was true, “But if you allow the spillover to affect _ us _, then you will find this to be the end of our . . . business transactions.”

“Understood.” Slade said coldly, feeling Dick’s gaze on him from across the room. “Now why don’t we discuss the matter you’ve actually hired me for. Have you learned anything about Owlman?”

Luthor’s expression suddenly turned smug. “Forget about Owlman. There’s another option.” He said. “I have a contact who’s _ very _familiar with Qwardian technology. With this machine in particular . . . “ Luthor’s smile widened.

Slade stared at him coolly. That seemed convenient. “Sounds like quite a contact.” He said after a moment, crossing his arms.

Luthor regarded him for a moment, then the smile shrunk back to his usual damnable smirk. “I’ve made a lot of allies over the years, Terminator.”

There weren’t a lot of beings he knew from the antimatter universe, but Slade could think of one person who could possess that kind of intimate knowledge about Qward. “Sinestro?” He guessed. 

“Sinestro built that machine.” Luthor said matter-of-factly. “He used it years ago to attack Oa not long after he took control of Qward.”

“And you were able to get in touch with him? Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Luthor said with a dark gleam in his eyes. “There are override codes. They can be used to reprogram the gateway and activate it without the key.”

Slade frowned. “And where can I find these _ override codes _?”

Luthor rolled his eyes. “If you insist that I carry out every part of this job perhaps I should cut out the middleman and just pay myself.” He said sharply. “I have more important things to do than hold your hand, so take the lead and work with it. Otherwise wire me over a refund.”

“Watch your tone, Luthor.” Slade said dangerously.

There was a pause as Luthor undoubtedly debated whether he wanted to piss off the world's deadliest assassin or not. “Let me know when you have an update for me.” He finally said before ending the call.

Slade glared at the screen for another moment before finally turning away. Dick was sitting crossed-legged on the chair with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“What do you think?” Slade asked.

“It’s possible . . . We just need to figure out who-” He broke off abruptly. Slade could practically see the lightbulb going off in his head.

“Spit it out, kid.” He said.

“There was something Owlman said, just before we finally took down Ultraman.” Dick jumped up to his feet. “They wanted to bring in reinforcements from Earth-3. They sent Marksman to take the Gateway and rendezvous with Grid.”

Slade raised an eyebrow. “Grid?”

“He’s Earth-3’s Cyborg.” Dick explained earnestly, pacing past Slade in thought. “I thought the order was strange at the time. Owlman had the key, so Marksman and Grid wouldn’t be able to operate it._ ” _

“Unless Grid had been the one to program it in the first place.” Slade concluded.

“Exactly.” Dick said with a grin. “If we get the override codes we’ll have leverage against Owlman. We can draw him out on our terms.”

Slade hummed. “And where is Grid now?”

Dick gave him a wry smile. “He’s in Justice League custody.”

* * *

“I talked to Rose. She hasn’t had contact with her father in months.” Tim said as he jogged after Bruce down the metal gangway that led from the Batcomputer to the other end of the cave. “She said she’d let me know if she got any leads, though.”

Bruce grunted, but didn’t slow his pace. When he reached the JLA issued machine at the end of the walkway, he pulled the cowl back over his face. “Afred, is the teleporter ready?”

“Yes, Master Bruce. And Miss Gordon has informed me that the League is awaiting your arrival.” Alfred said with a dip of his head.

Tim glanced over at Bruce with a frown. “You’re taking this to the League?” He asked, looking slightly surprised.

Batman made his way to the entrance of the transporter before finally speaking to Tim. “Robin, man the radios. Let me know if something significant comes up.”

“Okay, Bruce.” Tim responded scratching his head and exchanging a glance with Alfred.

Batman typed a code into the transporter’s control panel. A metallic voice confirmed his authorization, and the doors slid open with a hiss. 

By the time he reached the main floor of the JLA moon base, his teammates had already settled at the round table in the center of the room. They stared at him as he approached.

Diana was the first to speak. “Have you uncovered news about Owlman? Is that why you have called us here?”

“This isn’t just about Owlman.” Batman said, resting his hands on the back of his chair rather than sitting down.“It’s . . . more than that. I need your help.” His frown deepened.

“You need _ our _ help?” Kyle blurted out, mouth gaping in surprise. Wally elbowed him in the ribs. The other heroes were exchanging curious glances as well.

“Yes.” Bruce said awkwardly. “I haven't yet . . . shared all the details of Owlman’s escape.” He said.

Clark furrowed his brow. “What details, Bruce?” He asked sharply.

“After he escaped he went after Nightwing. He attacked him in his apartment.”

Wally jumped up in a blur of red, causing his chair to fall behind him. Before it could hit the ground, several green gnomes materialized from Kyle’s ring and steadied it. “What?! Why are you just telling us this now? Is he okay?”

Bruce paused. “Owlman didn’t get him.” He said. “He was interrupted.”

“Interrupted by who?” Wally snapped.

“I thought I could handle this myself, but I was wrong.” Bruce said, staring down at the table.

Clark put a hand on the vibrating speedster’s shoulder, then turned his attention to Batman. “Bruce, what’s going on?”

Bruce took in a deep breath. “Nightwing’s been abducted by Deathstroke.”

* * *

William Wintergreen and Squirrel arrived at the safehouse about two hours after Slade’s call with Luthor.

Billy gave Dick a firm handshake and an affable grin as he entered the hallway. “Pleased to be seeing you again, Dick. Wish that it were under more pleasant circumstances.” 

Dick flashed him a smile. “It’s good to see you too, Billy.”

Slade ushered along his other ally. “Squirrel, this is Dick. Dick, Squirrel.” Slade said boredly, waving a hand to a short young man with thick round glasses.

“N-n-n-ice to m-meet you.” Squirrel said, walking past the hand Dick offered and into the hallway. 

“Squirrel’s our resident technologies expert.” Slade explained. “Figured you’ll need something to wear.” 

Dick frowned at him. “I’m not taking any handouts.” He said. “Not from Bruce. Not from you.”

Slade guided him into the parlor after Squirrel. “Not a handout. I’ll expect you to pay me back later.” He replied breezily. “Point of the matter is you’ll need the armor to go up against Owlman, and if you won’t wear the Nightwing suit then you’ll need something else.”

Squirrel tilted his head at Slade’s comment, then he zeroed in on the suit Dick had discarded on the couch. He glanced over at Dick. “May I?” 

Dick scratched the back of his neck. “I guess.” He said, shooting Slade a skeptical glance, who just shrugged in return as Squirrel began to examine the suit curiously.

Billy cleared his throat from the hallway. “May I have a word, Slade?” He said as they turned to him.

Slade took a moment to glance over Billy’s face. “Yeah, come on.” He said, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

Dick watched them leave curiously, but was distracted when Squirrel called over.

“Ooh, what material is this section composed of? The level of flexibility is remarkable. C-c-could I take a sample?” Slade heard him say as they walked away.

“Uhhh, no.”

Slade shut the kitchen door behind him, then headed over to the stove. “Can I get you some tea? Coffee?”

Billy hummed distractedly. “Tea’s fine.” He said, leaning back against the wall as he idly watched Slade place the kettle on the burner.

Slade took the seat closest to the stove, then waved for Billy to do the same. “So what’s the situation?”

“Grayson’s associates are beginning to circle.” Billy said, taking the seat opposite of Slade. “Ambushing the Councilman was just a start. There have been several attempts to breach our network.”

“Oracle.” Slade mused. 

Billy nodded. “This is going to bring on a lot of heat, Slade. The Bat is unrelenting. He’ll find you eventually.”

“Let him. There’s nothing he can do. Dick’s here of his own free will.”

“That won’t stop him from making your life _ very _difficult.”

Slade waved his hand dismissively. “I can handle the Bat.”

Billy’s stare was critical. “Are you sure? Because he may reconsider his stance on murder if he learns about the . . . nature of your relationship.”

“You think so?” Slade said with a dark chuckle_ . _

The look in Billy’s eyes held no humor. “I think you of all people can appreciate just what a father will do to protect his son.”

Slade tapped his knuckles on the table idly. “Yeah. I suppose I do.” He said.

Billy sighed. “I know you have a soft spot for him, but you need to think this through.” He said softly. “You’ve taken in an injured bird, Slade. What will you do once he’s able to fly?”

The teapot whistled loudly behind Slade. He got up, pulling two cups from the cupboard before filling them up with steaming liquid. He could feel Billy staring at him, but his long time friend seemed to realize it was time to change the subject.

“The counsilman has been trying to reach you, by the way.” Billy said when Slade finally turned back to him.

“I’m sure he has.” Slade said, passing Billy a cup before sitting back down. “Had to scrap that phone. It was compromised.”

“Yes, well he reached out to Scoops this morning, who passed the message along to me. He needs some reassurances.” Billy stirred some sugar into his cup. “I haven’t been able to reach him as of this afternoon.”

Slade snorted. “Maybe try the front desk of the _ Frisky Vixen Cabaret _.” He said, taking a sip from his own cup.

Billy gave him a look, so Slade sighed and pulled out another burner phone. He dialed the number from memory and listened as it rang, shaking his head after a minute and snapping the phone shut. “Nothing.”

“Do you think the Bat returned for him?”

“More likely he’s coked out of his mind in a bathroom stall.” Slade said. “But I suppose I should check up on him.” Luthor had already called him out on it. If Dawson got nailed by the Bat because of Slade it could seriously damage his network.

Slade took one last sip from his cup before getting back to his feet. “Alright. I’ll make a quick trip to Gotham. I’ll need you to keep the peace here.”

Billy snorted. “Don’t I always?”

When they returned to the parlor, Squirrel had begun to take Dick’s measurements. The vigilante shot Slade a pleading look as the weapons expert snapped his tape measure shut and proceeded to write something down on a sticky note fixed to Dick’s right shoulder.

Slade looked at them with a smirk. “This looks like it might take a while.”

“Oh, it w-will.” Squirrel said, adjusting his glasses without looking up. “Initial measurements are the m-most crucial.” He made another note on the sticky. “No prior data to p-pull from. Should be virtually p-p-painless though.”

“What?” Dick said, looking alarmed. “Slade . . .” He whined, turning away only to have Squirrel grumble testily and push him back.

“Now I n-need to start this p-part from scratch. P-please stand still.” He admonished, and Dick groaned. This time it was Squirrel that shot Slade a dirty look. “This one is fidgety.”

Slade chuckled. “I’m well aware, but I know you’ll manage.” He met Dick’s own glare with a grin. “I’ll leave you to this. I have to check in on a client.” He said, grabbing his coat from a nearby hook. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Slade!” Dick squawked.

“Don’t worry, You’re in Billy’s capable hands.” Slade said, waving a hand dismissively as he strolled to the door. He heard Dick make a sound of exasperation, followed by a bang.

“D-don’t d-d that!”

“I swear, I am _ this _close-“

Billy grabbed Slade’s arm. “You owe me.” He said.

“Don’t I always.” Slade replied.

There was a pause before Billy released his arm. “Be careful, Slade.”

Slade nodded and shut the door behind him.

* * *

Slade could tell something was off immediately. 

Dawson’s apartment was dark. That wasn’t unusual in of itself, but Slade could make out the low thump of a heartbeat. Dawson generally made it well into the early hours of the morning before he finally passed out in a drug induced haze.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom he could make out the shape of the other man in the room. It was the councilman, bound and gagged to an antique chair in the center of the room.

“Shit.” Slade said, heading over to him warily.

The man tried to speak under the gag, but before Slade could begin to remove it the room was suddenly lit by a dim glow.

Slade turned to the oversized television mounted on Dawson’s wall. Owlman’s masked face took up the entirety of the screen.

“Good evening, Mr. Wilson. I apologize for the theatrics, but I was quite eager to finally speak with you.”

Slade bared his teeth. It wouldn’t show under his mask. “Great. Why don’t we chat face to face.”

Owlman hummed. “This will do for now.” He said, leaning forward. Light from his own monitor flickered off the goggles. “I have business to discuss with you.”

“Business.” Slade echoed, crossing his arms. Dawson let out a muffled whine beside him.

“I’ve done my research. I know who you are.” Owlman said. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You’re a professional. A man with a code.” There was a pause. “And I admit, we got off on the wrong foot, but I believe we could work well together.”

Slade didn’t respond. Owlman cleared his throat and continued. “I’m taking this city.” He said matter-of-factly. “Once I do there will be a lot of opportunities for a man . . . such as yourself. Accept my offer and you will be well rewarded.”

Slade sneered under the mask. “And just what is your offer?”

Owlman sounded almost bored. “Bring me the boy. You’ll be well compensated, and then we can discuss our partnership going forward, if you so choose.”

His offer was met with silence, which Owlman apparently read as hesitation. He tilted his head slightly and leaned forward, lowering his voice as though whispering a secret. “If your interest in Richard more . . . personal . . . well, I’d be willing to work something out.”

“Go to Hell.” Slade replied coldly. He pulled out his handgun and fired a bullet through the monitor, cutting out the visual of Owlman. He heard the man tut disapprovingly over the speakers.

“What a shame.” Owlman said around him. “I was told you were a reasonable man. We could have worked well together.” 

Were it not for his enhanced hearing, Slade might not have caught the steady _ tik tik tik _ that was suddenly emanating from the grand piano to his right. He met Dawson’s frightened gaze.

“Fuck.” Slade said, spinning around towards the window.

“Goodbye Mr. Wilson.” Owlman said.

The bomb went off, and the last thing Slade saw was flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Next: Dick and Wintergreen search for Slade, and Owlman begins to set his plan into motion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Wintergreen search for Slade. Hitman makes an unnecessary guest appearance (but make no mistake, ennis still sucks)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been a bit busy. Thanks for all the comments and kudos so far.  


City Councilman William Dawson’s penthouse was located at 205 Riverside Parkway, exactly one floor above the apartment of Milton Buchanon, Esquire. 

As far as Gotham lawyers went, Buchanon was a shining example of virtue. Of course, as anyone familiar with the city (or legal practitioners in general) would tell you, that bar was set just below sea level (ask anyone who has had the pleasure of meeting former DA Harvey Dent). Attorney Buchanon practiced mainly in contract law, and his alternative dispute resolutions tended to involve cement shoes and long trips down to Dixon Docks. Such as it was, said methods tended to lead to the accumulation of an enemy or two.

An enemy or two had just so happened to hand Tommy Monaghan a thick envelope with Buchanon’s name and address scrawled across it in the men’s room of Noonan’s Bar earlier that night. With overdue rent money in hand, Tommy cleared his busy schedule (“Sorry boys, deal me outta this one.”), made his preparations (“Hey Natt, can you pick me up by the old McCrea building . . . say, quarter past twelve?”) before making his way downtown.

There were those who would say that X-ray vision and a little bit of mind-reading were unassuming as far as superpowers went, but they went a long way in Tommy’s line of work. When you could see through walls, taking out a target was quite literally like shooting fish in a barrell. It removed a lot of unknowns from the situation, and more and more Tommy found he was very rarely caught by surprise during those routine hits.

When the top floor of the apartment complex he was staking out exploded, Tommy could say that he was very much caught by surprise. He swore, leaning back from the fire escape of the neighboring building as a shower of glass and debris spewed around him. A few screams echoed from the streets below, followed moments later by the wail of a siren. Tommy turned back toward the building, narrowing black eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he peered through the debris with his X-ray vision. The top floor had been obliterated, and had collapsed into the apartment below. 

Tommy straightened up and scratched his head. “Well damn.” He said out loud to himself. “That was easy.” He took a moment to admire the pillar of flames and smoke before shrugging and turning to head up the fire escape to the roof, pulling out his phone as he went with a lopsided smile.

“Hey Nat. Might need that ride a little earlier than planned.”

“Did you just blow the whole fucking building up?” 

“Nah, wasn’t me. Maybe Buchanon got double booked.”

“Gotta love this town. You get paid up front?”

“Yup.”

“Niiice.” 

Tommy’s grin widened as he reached the roof. From his position he had a full few of the emergency vehicles and people gathering below. Nothing brought a community together quite like a major disaster. It was touching. 

“Bring some marshmallows.” Tommy said into the phone. 

Natt laughed. Tommy heard the rev of a car engine in the background. “Nothing like a Gotham style bonfire, am I right?”

“Yeah, and let me tell-” Tommy broke off abruptly as something shifted below a layer of debris and ash a few feet away. The hitman stared dumbly before swearing again.

“What?” Natt asked.

“Get here fast, man. You’re not gonna believe this.”

* * *

There was a thin line between hope and denial - Dick had walked it like a tightrope too many times. 

_ He feels the snap of the ropes more than hears it. Screams of joy turning to horror. Limbs flail desperately in the air. And even _ after _ he hears it - the crack and snaps of bones against the sawdust covered floor - he holds his breath with the audience. It can’t be real. It can’t be . . . _

Dick adjusted one of the gauntlets of his Nightwing suit and sighed. Hope was beginning to become a bitter taste in his mouth.

The twinkling skyline of Gotham rose ahead of them. Billy drove, silent and calm. He had said very little since a breaking news alert had cut off the scathing Jack Ryder expose they had been watching as Squirrel toiled away. It was no coincidence that Dawson’s building had been destroyed, and with no word yet from Slade they could only assume the situation was serious. 

Dick leaned against the window and ground his teeth impatiently. They were still ten minutes away. He was beginning to regret that he hadn’t insisted on driving.

Billy shifted in the seat beside him. “He’ll be alright, you know.” He said, glancing over at Dick. “Out of sheer bullheadedness, if nothing else.”

Blockbuster’s final threats drifted through Dick’s mind. He nodded absently at the older man’s ressurances, but all he could think of was the dark glint in Desmond’s eye. _ ‘You won’t be able to shake someone’s hand without marking them for death.’ _

“Right.” He said after a moment. 

“We’ve had worse, you know.” Billy continued, turning his attention back to the road. “Once in Sudan we . . .” 

Dick stared out the window idly as Billy went on, barely listening. He had underestimated Owlman. He had dragged Slade into this and put a target on his back. Blockbuster was dead and buried, but he was still right.

_ ‘Do you like being alone, Dick?’ _

“Take this exit.” He said, straightening up. Now wasn’t the time to feel bad for himself. Dick had to keep going - had to keep fighting. He’d start by finding Slade. 

Then he was taking down Owlman.

* * *

Slade had been here before.

He knew that, even though his own thoughts were too diffused to grasp - as intangible as the surrounding fog. Shimmers of silver glistened around him like light off a spider’s thread - tinkling gently like a chorus of windchimes. They echoed endlessly, with whispers Slade was not entirely sure he could hear. 

He knew this place. It was a lull. It was peace. Somewhere time had no jurisdiction.

It was where you went to finally let go.

Slade surrendered to the veil of serenity enveloping him. He let it take root - let all the anger and pain and regret he’d locked up so tightly wash away - until the moment his self awareness was recentered by Her arrival.

The sound of boot heels resounded loudly, getting closer until they stopped at his side. Slade suddenly realized he was on his knees. 

A woman’s voice rang in his ears - calm and melodic. “Oh.” She said, although She didn’t _ really _sound surprised. “It’s you again.”

Slade glanced up. Her face glowed like the moon, framed by inky black hair that merged seamlessly into the shadows around them. A silver ankh dangled from her neck. 

She gave him a sad smile. “I can’t take you yet.” She said gently. “But you know that.” Slade dipped his head into a nod. 

She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before pulling something from her pocket that looked suspiciously like a smartphone. She glanced at it as though checking the time, and her lips parted into a slight frown. 

“It’s probably for the best.” She assured him after a moment, slipping the device away. “You have another chance now.”

Something was pulling him away. He watched as She began to disappear into the distance. 

“Don’t waste it.”

* * *

The apartment building was still spewing black smoke when they arrived. First responders had cordoned off the block, so they parked a few streets away before joining the crowd growing around the barricades being set up by the police.

Dick zipped up his sweatshirt and surveyed the scene. The penthouse had been leveled, and a few localized fires were making their last stand against the efforts of the scrambling firefighters. The bottom levels of the building had thankfully remained intact, but the top floors were in ruins. It would be a while before emergency services could safety search the debris.

Dick ignored the sinking feeling in his chest and turned to Billy, who’s own expression was unreadable as he stared into the flames. “I’ll try to get a closer look. See if you can find anything down here.”

Billy nodded, so Dick turned to push himself out of the murmuring crowd. Events like these were hardly uncommon in Gotham, but they always drew a crowd. It would be hard to get inside the building with so many onlookers - and even if he did there was no guarantee he’d find any evidence. 

Dick circled around with a frown. He didn’t have time to do this right. Not when _ Bruce _would be showing up any moment now. Dick needed a quick lead. Anything-

The used electronics store across the street caught his eye. A security camera blinked from its perch above the door, and Dick tilted his head thoughtfully. Maybe he had a witness after all.

* * *

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“C’mon Ralph, there must be something you can do.”

“I was a _ veterinary assistant, _Tommy! Not a fucking neurosurgeon!” 

“You pulled that slug outa Hacken’s ass a few months ago.” Natt pointed out. 

Tommy nodded sagely as he lit up a cigarette. “That’s right.” He said, “You are a shining beacon of hope to the people of the Cauldron.”

Ralph stared at them, mouth open slightly. “I put dogs to sleep.” He finally said with resignation.

Tommy clapped a hand on the man’s back and grinned around the cigarette in his mouth. “And a fine job you do, too.” He said, steering him around to the exam table. “But what can you do for our friend here?” 

The figure sprawled across the metal surface might have been dead as far as any onlooker could tell. The orange and black body armor was still covered in ash, and sections of it had melted together from exposure to heat. He hadn’t moved since they found him, maybe hadn’t even breathed. But Tommy could see past the flesh and (shattered) bone. Something was happening below the surface, and considering the stories . . . 

Ralph took a tentative step forward. “Is it . . . really him?”

Tommy nodded, still grinning below the sunglasses.

“Deathstroke the fucking Terminator.” Natt said with reverence. The three men stared at the notorious assassin for a moment.

“Are you sure he’s not dead?” Ralph leaned forward, still unwilling to get any closer. “Because he looks pretty dead to me.”

“I gotta agree with Ralphie on this one.” Natt said, leaning back against the wall. 

“C’mon, it’s Deathstroke we’re talking about.” Tommy said resting his hands on the exam table as he peered down at the unconscious or maybe dead man. “The guys a legend.”

“Yeah, a legendary _ killer _.” Ralph whined. “Why did you have to bring him here?”

“Well I couldn’t just leave him.” The two men stared back at him skeptically, so Tommy gave an emphatic wave of his hand. “Uhhh, Professional courtesy and all.” He finally said with a shrug.

“Well, if he _ does _ croak, we can sell that suit.” Natt pointed out.

“Exactly.” Tommy said cheerfully. “A win-win.”

A sudden shudder ran through the mercenary’s body. Ralph let out a yelp and jumped back.

Tommy beamed and turned toward his fellow assassin. “See, what’d I tell-“ He was cut off when a vice like grip grabbed the collar of his coat and pulled him forward before he could so much as blink. The hitman let out an undignified squawk, and his cigarette fell to the floor.

“Oh shit!” He heard Natt say behind him, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. Somewhere in the room behind them a dog began to bark.

Tommy waved a hand behind him. “Wait. Don’t.” He wheezed.

The Terminator inhaled a rattled breath without releasing his hold on Tommy’s coat. The hitman grasped the armored wrist with both hands and pulled, but Deathstroke’s grip was too strong. So the rumors were definitely true. Good to know.

“Ralph, do something!” Natt said.

“Uhhh . . . “ Ralph looked around in a panic, then grabbed a syringe from the metal tray beside him and plunged it into the bare skin beneath the mercenary’s mask. Tommy choked for another moment, and was beginning to think they were going to need a plan ‘B’ when the Terminator’s grip finally went slack.

Tommy jumped up and out of reaching distance, rubbing his neck for a moment before reaching down to pick up the cigarette. “Jesus.” He said as he relit it and stuck it back in his mouth. “What was in that thing anyways?”

Ralph looked down at the floor. ”Uhhh, horse tranquilizer.” He said after a long moment.

Tommy exchanged a look with Natt. “Uh, You get a lot of stray horses here, Ralphie?”

The other man scratched his head. “Hyenas, actually.”

”Ah.”

* * *

Tim was waiting for Bruce when the doors to the JLA teleporter slid open with a hiss. The grim expression on the boy’s face didn’t bode well, and Bruce found his own mouth creasing into a frown.

He stepped out onto the gangway and appraised his partner with a raised eyebrow. “What is it?”

Tim shifted uneasily. “The McCrea building.” He said. “Someone set off a bomb.”

Bruce was already brushing past him to the computer consul in the center of the cave. “How long ago?” 

“About 45 minutes.” Tim said as he followed after him. “Number of casualties hasn’t been released, but they managed to evacuate the bottom floors and the building doesn’t seem in danger of collapsing.”

He took in the information without a word, and when he reached the computer he initiated a call to Barbara.

She answered instantly. “Hey Bruce. I’ve been monitoring the situation. Emergency responders have the fire under control.” He could hear the clatter of keys over the speakers. 

“I’m heading there now. Let me know if you learn anything.”

“Got it. Good luck.”

Bruce turned back to Tim, who was looking at him oddly. “You were just over there, weren’t you?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Yes.” Bruce said. And it was too unlikely to be a coincidence. Dawson must have been the target. But why? Retaliation by Deathstroke? The councilman _ had _ given Batman a direct line to Wilson, but it seemed unlikely. Even Bruce knew that wasn’t Deathstroke’s style.

There was more going on than Bruce knew, and he didn’t like that at all.

“This is about Dick, isn’t it?” Tim finally asked as Bruce started towards the Batmobile.

Bruce sighed and pulled up his cowl. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

* * *

The Fifth Street animal shelter had been closed for hours, so the light shining from the basement window was a good indication that Dick’s lead was good.

Although the angle was bad, the security camera at the electronics store had in fact been operational, and after several minutes of examining the footage Dick finally spotted something of interest.

The car had only been in the frame for seconds, but Dick recognized the driver immediately. Natt “the Hat” Walls. Former Marine turned hitman. He and his associates were on the Bats radar, but as far as Gotham players went they usually kept a low profile. Fortunately, Dick could recall that one of Natt’s frequent haunts was a dive bar in the Cauldron. The bar patrons were not exactly cooperative - but once Dick threatened to revoke Sixpack’s JLA membership he got the location.

Dick crouched down by the window and peered inside, then signalled for Billy to take position by the back door. He was in the process of jimmying the lock when a voice called out to them from inside.

“You know, you _ could _ just knock.”

Dick cursed under his breath. That voice belonged to Tommy Monaghan - a meta from the bloodlines crisis, and known associate of Natt the Hat. Dick should have considered that he might be involved - and sneaking up on someone with x-ray vision generally required a little more finesse.

The back door was unlocked, so Dick entered without any additional theatrics, motioning for Billy to wait behind. The old animal shelter was in a state of disrepair, but the muffled sound of barking suggested it was still in operation. Or at least operational enough to act as a front for whatever illicit dealings were taking place. 

Monaghan waved cheerfully as Dick stepped through the threshold. The hitman appeared unarmed, but he was definitely packing beneath the trenchcoat. Walls was less inconspicuous - the handle of his handgun peeked out from his waistband - a clear threat. He stood by impassively with his arms crossed, but made no move to draw, so Dick entered the room cautiously. For a hitman Monaghan was fairly level-headed, but there was no way Dick was going to let his guard down around hardened killers.

“Looking to adopt or were you interested in the free rabies shots?” Monaghan piped. Walls chuckled beside him.

Dick eyed the third man - one he didn’t recognize - who was cowering in the back, then turned his attention to the hitmen. “You were at the McCrea building tonight.” He said. “My guess is you both were.”

“McCrea building?” Monaghan scratched his head. “McCrea building . . . Natt, do you remember going to the McCrea building tonight?”

“Nope.” Walls said. “We’ve been hanging here. Doing . . . community service. Right Ralph?”

The cowering man nodded vigorously.

“Cut the crap. I have you on tape.” Dick hissed, stepping forward.

“Woah, woah, woah, take it easy.” Monaghan said, making a placating gesture with his hands. “I know how it looks, but we had nothing to do with what went down there tonight. Wrong place, wrong time. Scouts honor.”

Dick regarded them carefully for a moment. He was sure that Monaghan’s purpose there had been anything but innocent, but that currently wasn’t his priority. “I know you didn’t cause the explosion.” He said after a moment. “I just want to know if you saw anything? If anyone . . . got out?”

Monaghan exchanged a glance with Natt. “I didn’t see anything. Did you, Natt?”

Walls shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

Dick glanced over at the third man, Ralph, who was trying to look anywhere but at Dick. In fact, his gaze kept going in one direction specifically . . . 

“You’re lying.” Dick said after a long pause. The two hitmen didn’t even try to stop him as he approached the exam table that had been conveniently placed out of his view. There was something on the table - something large - covered by a tarp.

As Dick stared down at the table he felt numbness wash over him. He didn’t recall moving, but the hand pulling the tarp away was his own. It fell down to the floor, revealing orange and black and ash.

“Slade!” Dick choked out, leaning over the table so he could grasp at the mercenary’s armored shoulders. Slade didn’t move, though - didn’t make a noise. Dick forced himself to pull it together - bitter as it was he couldn’t let that last shred of hope go, so he pulled the mask from Slade’s face and felt for a pulse.

Dick held his own breath and stared down at Slade’s uncharacteristically tranquil face - waiting - waiting for what felt like an eternity - until he felt it. Weak, but present nonetheless. Dick exhaled with relief.

Monaghan cleared his throat behind him, and Dick heard the click of a gun cocking. The vigilante turned around slowly.

“I know you’re just doing your crime fighting thing, but we can’t let you take him in.” Monaghan said with an apologetic smile, gun trained on Dick. “We hitmen gotta stick together, you know.”

The back door slammed open, and Billy entered with a gun of his own. Walls spun around to face him off.

Dick sighed. “Relax, it’s not like that. We’re . . . Working together.”

Monaghan raised an eyebrow, but eased the grip on his gun a little. “Really. And is. . .” He lowered his voice for dramatic flair. “. . . He-who-must-not-be-named cool with that?”

The glare Dick threw back made Monaghan chuckle, but after a moment the hitman tucked away his gun. “Okay, I believe you.” He said, tapping the top of his head.

Damn mind readers.

Monaghan strolled over to the exam table. Billy holstered his own weapon and hurried over as well, looking over his old friend grimly.

“He’s got a pulse.” Dick said, glancing over Slade again. “It’s weak, though. Can’t say how bad his other injuries are under the armor though.” 

“Has he regained consciousness at all?” Billy asked Monaghan.

The other man rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, not really . . . maybe for a second. We, uh, gave him some ketamine. For the pain.”

Billy frowned as he leaned in to check Slade’s breathing. “We need to get him to a doctor.”

Dick glanced back at Billy. “His healing factor?”

“Will keep him alive, but it isn’t a miracle solution. His body will try to heal itself, but there can be complications.”

“Complications?”

Billy nodded grimly. “If the bones set improperly they’ll need to be rebroken. Sometimes the tissue just keeps forming despite the obstruction.” He said as worked one of the buckles of Slade’s chest piece. “His lung once regenerated right around a broken rib. Very unpleasant.”

Dick swallowed. He had never really considered the drawbacks of Slade’s healing factor. Usually it just seemed like another unfair advantage for an already challenging opponent.

“You’ll help us move him.” Billy said to Monaghan and Walls. 

“Yes, sir.” Monaghan replied, looking serious for the first time. Walls joined them by the table as Billy moved out to pull up the car.

Slade was alive. That was all that mattered, Dick told himself. Owlman, the Portal - even his plans for Grid and those override codes - he could deal with that now. 

Dick caught the reflection of his own gaze in Monaghan’s sunglasses. The hitman gave him a lopsided grin. “We were just trying to help him, you know.” He said after a moment. “Deathstroke is a legend to guys like us.”

“Right.” Dick said, turning back to Slade.

“When he wakes up, tell him to drop by Noonan’s sometime. We’ll buy him a round.”

* * *

Every breath Slade took was agony. His chest burned, and his throat felt raw - like it had been scrubbed down with steel wool. His mind was too hazy to focus on much more than that.

Strange sounds garbled around him. His hearing was shot. Probably sight too, but he wasn’t about to try opening his eye to find out for sure. His senses were overloaded - too distorted. And he felt himself fading in and out, catching moments just for them to slip away. 

Time passed - he wasn’t sure how much.

Indistinct sounds became voices, and suddenly the pain in his chest was overshadowed by the sharp ache from deep within his bones. He could feel them. Moving inside as they knitted themselves back together. Sharp pins and needles - hot white pain - like every nerve in his body was on fire.

Slade tried to push himself up with an animalistic cry. The voices around him were still too warped to understand, but he could sense their alarm. Suddenly he felt pressure as he was pushed back down.

Adrenaline rushed through his system. He was vulnerable in this state. He needed to fight back - needed to survive. So he struck out blindly, making contact before something grasped his wrist. There were more cries around him, and Slade prepared to lash out again.

“Slade! Stop!”

He hesitated. The voices . . . He knew them. 

They were safe. 

Slade let his head drop back down, and they grew lower, speaking to him in soothing tones. Slade focused on them, trying to push aside the pain gnawing throughout his body.

* * *

Tommy took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, checking his watch with a grumble. It was fast approaching four, and he had _ promised _ he’d meet Hacken that morning to move some flatscreens that had fallen off a truck. And yeah, his own medling may have been the cause of his late night, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need his beauty sleep. 

Oh well. He supposed he got off lucky. Generally his interactions with masks didn’t end quite so smoothly.

When he reached the fourth floor, the hitman came to a sudden halt. Something felt . . . _ off. _ Tommy tilted his head, scanning around him with his x-ray vision. Yup, definitely off. In fact, he was _ quite familiar _with that particular brand of silence. 

“Fuck.”

Tommy’s legs were swept from beneath him, and faster than he could say ‘holy sneak attack Batman!’ he was trusted up and dangling by his ankles from the door frame like the morning catch. 

Tommy stared at Batman’s knees as he tried to reorient himself. This really sucked.

The Caped Crusader as silent, so Tommy took it upon himself to move things along. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Dark Lord himself.” He said with all the confidence he could muster. 

The Bat responded with something that could be likened to a growl, then he crouched down and grabbed the collar of Tommy’s coat so he could better stare him down. 

Tommy grinned insolently. “You know, my good pal Superman would not be happy if he hear-”

“Enough.” Batman said in a dangerous tone. “Tell me what you know.”

“Well, the unicorn is the national animal of Scotland-”

“McCrea building. What do you know.” Batman gripped his collar harder. These people were going to ruin his coat at this rate . . . 

“Nothing! I didn’t do it! Cross my heart.”

“I know.” He said through gritted teeth. “Where’s Deathstroke?”

Tommy snorted. “Look, the Terminator’s a little out of my league. I mean, not by much mind you, but we don’t really run in the same circles or nothing.”

Batman stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. “How long do you think it will take your friends to realize you’re missing?” He finally said in a low tone. “Temperatures are beginning to drop this time of year . . . “

Okay, Tommy _ really _didn’t want to spend his night dangling from a gargoyle.

“Look, he got caught in that explosion. Was hit pretty bad. One of your Batlings left with him, though, so why don’t you ask him?”

Batman’s eyes narrowed under the cowl. “Do you know where they went?”

“Nope.”

“Did you pick anything else up…with your _ other _ abilities?”

Tommy pretended to look insulted. “You mean use my mind reading abilities to invade upon the very private thoughts of others?”

“Talk. Otherwise you’ll spend the next several hours enjoying an aerial view of the Cauldron.”

“Okay, okay.” Tommy said, wriggling in the cord wrapped around him. “Look, there’s really not much. The Terminator was unconscious, so I didn’t get nothing from him.”

“What about Nightwing?” Batman moved behind him, out of his line of sight. Tommy definitely didn’t like _ that _.

“Well Junior had a few choice thoughts about you, lemme tell ya. Don’t know what you did to piss him off, but wow.” Tommy said with an attempt to shrug. “Look I ain’t exactly Martian Manhunter. I just get bits and pieces sometimes.”

“Think. Harder.”

“Uhhh, I caught something about a portal.”

There was a pause. “Go on.”

Tommy sighed, racking his memory. “He had plans for a grid, I think. It had something to do with codes?”

“A grid?” Batman mused from behind him.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what that means. I didn’t catch anything else.”

He heard Batman humm thoughtfully behind him.

“So you’re gonna let me go, right?” Tommy asked.

Silence.

“Fuck.” Tommy said after a moment, swinging slightly. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

* * *

Slade woke up to the sound of chirping birds.

That bone deep pain was gone, but he felt stiff - as though someone had poured cement mix into his joints. And his head pounded like he had the mother of all hangovers. He groaned and shifted to sit up.

Dick materialized at his side, and Slade tried to brush him off with a wave of his hand, grumbling as he was bombarded with a series of questions and frets.

“Don’t get up!”

“I’m fine.”

“You were blown up, you’re not fine!”

“I’m better. Healing factor.”

Dick started rambling on about complications, so Slade sat up and pulled the IV out of his arm. He ignored Dick’s protests and gave his arms an experimental roll. He was going to need a good stretch after this.

“Slade.” Dick said sternly.

“I’m fine.” Slade repeated calmly, shifting on the bed to make space.

Dick frowned, but sat down next to him. “Well you weren’t. You nearly died.”

The image of an ankh flashed across Slade’s mind. He wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulders and hummed. They were silent for a moment.

“It was Owlman wasn’t it?” Dick asked in a low tone.

Slade nodded. “Yeah.” 

Dick turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, Slade. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I should have-“

“Stop.” Slade said. 

“Stop what?” Dick asked quizzically.

“Doing that.” Slade grumbled. “Blaming yourself. I have a headache. Don’t need to deal with your guilt complex too.” He said gruffly. 

Dick looked him over, concern apparent in his blue eyes. “Are you really okay?” He asked quietly, idly trailing a finger along one of the bandages that had been wrapped across Slade’s chest.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Good.” Dick fell silent for a moment, still fiddling with the bandage.

“Dick.” Slade said, and the vigilante looked back up at him, expression strangely pensive. “We’re going to stop him.” He said, pushing back a lock of hair from Dick’s face. “Together.”

For some reason, Slade found himself frowning at Dick’s earnest nod.

Slade sighed. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” 

Dick gave him a half smile. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Dick puts his plan into motion


	6. Chapter 6

The Justice League Watchtower was currently situated on the moon. It took Dick approximately two hours to break in. 

He was no Oracle, but reprogramming the old teleporter in Titans Tower was well within his skill set. And Dick already _ had _access codes to the Watchtower, so getting inside had never been the problem. The problem was the teleporter’s automated alert system. Unless he wanted the entire League aware of his arrival, he first had to disable it.

That took some time, but eventually he was able to power up the machine without issue. The trip itself was hardly pleasant, but several uncomfortable seconds later, Dick was in the center of one of the most secure locations in the world . . . Or more technically, off world.

The teleporter doors slid open with a hiss, and Dick was met with silence as he cautiously stepped out of the machine. It was empty, as expected. He’d been tracking the league’s activities in preparation. Waiting for a moment they’d be occupied by their own crises. 

To his right, the teleporter room converged with the Hall of Justice. A colossal dome rose high over the table at the center, allowing starlight to pass through and sparkle off the metallic flooring. Dick had been to space his fair share of times, but there was something wondrous about the Hall. It was where legends met.

Dick wasn’t here for the sights, though. Many of the remaining Crime Syndicate members had been detained in the Watchtower while the League and International Agencies decided on a final solution. Grid was among them.

As the counterpart to their own world’s Cyborg, Grid had been tasked with programming the Qwardian Gateway that the Crime Syndicate had used to gain access to their world. If there truly were override codes, as Luthor insisted, then they were most likely in Grid’s system. So all Dick had to do was break into the Justice League Moon Base and retrieve them. Simple.

Dick turned down the corridor opposite of the Hall of Justice towards the Security Wing. He would need direct access in order to bypass security. Fortunately, the League’s facility controlled the entire system, from the Watchtower to their satellite bases back on Earth. Dick would then have a short window of time before someone, most likely Barbara, realized they had been breached. What could go wrong?

“Nightwing?”

Dick swore under his breath and wheeled around. Green Lantern was staring at him with his mouth slightly open. He was wearing his costume but no mask, and had a bag of nacho flavored chips in hand.

“Kyle.” Dick said back dumbly. 

“What are you doing here? How’d you escape Deathstroke?”

“Escape?” 

Kyle gave him a funny look, then went for a chip. “That’s what Batman told us.” He said as he munched. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

_ Goddamn it Bruce. _Dick planted the palm of his hand against his forehead and groaned. “Ugh, forget that for now. I wasn’t abducted, okay?” 

“Uhhh . . . Okay?” Kyle looked at him skeptically. “Look, I don’t really know what’s going on here? Should I call Batman?”

“No!” Dick said quickly, stepping forward to put a hand on the Green Lantern’s shoulder. “I need you to listen carefully, Kyle. I’m going to tell you _ everything.” _

_ “_Okaaay.” Kyle said, slowly reaching back into the bag.

Dick lowered his voice dramatically. “Owlman hacked into the JLA network. That’s how he escaped.” He lied.

Kyle’s eyes widened. “We need to tell Oracle!”

“There’s no time! And Owlman will intercept any messages we try to relay.” Dick steered Kyle into the Security Room. “We can’t let him know that we’ve caught on.” He said urgently.

“Aw man.” Kyle ran a hand through his hair. “So what should we do?”

Dick turned to the array of screens and wires and blinking lights. “I’m going to reboot the system.” He said, sitting down at one of the computer terminals. “It’s the only way to kick him out.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Kyle said, sounding uncertain. “I can fly back to Earth, find J’onn or Wally.”

Dick powered up the computer. “No time.” He said without taking his eyes off the screen. “I'm not a league member so my access is limited. I can hack it, but this will be faster if you enter your authorization code.” 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“Do you want Owlman to free the entire Syndicate?” 

Kyle gulped. “Nope. Okay, I’ll do it.”

A few minutes later Dick had control of the Justice League security system. He glanced at the clock on his gauntlet computer. He was ahead of schedule.

“Warning. Security Shut Down Initiated.” A computerized voice announced. 

Kyle glanced at him nervously. “Is that supposed to happen?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s just part of the reboot.” Dick got up and adjusted his gauntlets, hoping that Kyle wasn’t tech savvy enough to see through his obvious lies. “Now we need to make sure the other Syndicate Members are still secure.”

“Will they be able to get out?” 

“No. The containment units run on a separate network than general security, so I left them online. We should check in on them, though. To be safe.”

“If you say so.”

As Kyle led him down another corridor, a thought popped into Dick’s head. “Hey Kyle,” He said, giving the Lantern a sideways glance. “Do you happen to know Sinestro’s current whereabouts?”

Kyle glanced at him curiously. “Yeah. Rotting in intergalactic space prison. Why?”

Dick hummed. “Just wondering. Is this it?” He motioned to the security door ahead of them. Kyle nodded, and with the system offline, all Dick had to do was push it open.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any transdimensional criminals waiting for Dick in the Containment Chamber.

Batman stared at him from the center of the room with crossed arms.

Dick sighed.

“Grid is no longer here.” Bruce said.

“I can see that.” Dick replied stiffly.

They stared at each other for a moment. Kyle eventually cleared his throat behind them.

“So what-”

“The situation is under control, Green Lantern.” Bruce interrupted, staring at Kyle pointedly for a moment.

The Lantern eventually got the hint. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll just let you two talk.” He said with a shrug before slipping out the door.

Dick snapped his attention back to Bruce. “You told them I was abducted?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bruce blinked. “I had no reason to assume otherwise.” He said adamantly.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“_I'm_ not the one currently breaking into the Justice League Watchtower.” Bruce retorted sharply.

“Don’t get self-righteous with _ me_, Bruce. Not after all you’ve pulled.”

Bruce frowned under the cowl. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect our world.” He said.

“And how has that worked out for you?” Dick replied coldly. He didn’t need to go into detail to drive home his point. He didn’t need to mention the contingencies that had fallen into the wrong hands. The hands of the enemy . . . And more tragically, the hands of a friend. Bruce already _ knew. _

There was a moment of bitter silence. “I know what you think of me, Dick.” He said.

Dick snorted. “Do you?”

“The world’s changed since we were partners. It’s darker now.” Bruce fell silent for a moment, and pulled back his cowl. He looked tired to Dick. More so than usual. “We’ve had to bury too many friends. Had to watch others turn against us. Parallax . . . Extant . . . Heroes, driven into madness.” Bruce trailed off for a moment before meeting Dick’s eyes again. “You’re right. I _ have _ gone behind their backs. I’ve planned for their betrayals and acted in spite of their decisions. I did it because somebody needs to be prepared for reality. And it can’t be them. Because they _ believe _ in this world. They believe in people. It’s what makes them heroes.” His voice grew quieter. “It’s what makes you one.”

Dick’s felt something in his throat tighten. “I’m not a hero.” He said, failing to suppress the emotion in his voice. “I’m a _ person_.” 

Bruce, true to his nature, completely misinterpreted Dick’s response. He sighed, like a man about to start a conversation he had been hoping to avoid. “I know you’ve been struggling with what happened in Bludhaven.” He said after a moment.

“This has nothing to do with Bludhaven.” Dick responded in a low tone.

“I . . . should have addressed it with you sooner.” Bruce continued awkwardly, taking a step forward. “I wasn’t sure how to help. I thought . . . hoped you would understand-”

“Bruce.” Dick warned. “Stop.”

Bruce took in a deep breath, finally gathering his thoughts together. “I know you blame yourself for Desmond’s death.” He said matter-of-factly. “I hoped you would come to terms with that, but if you need to hear it from me, then fine. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dick let out an incredulous laugh. Bruce frowned deeply at him, clearly confused by the response. “You’re a real piece of work.” Dick eventually said.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Bruce replied curtly.

“The only one who hasn’t come to terms with Blockbuster’s death is _ you,_ Bruce!” Dick exclaimed.

Bruce shook his head and took another step forward; his pale blue eyes glinted fiercely. “You’re not a killer, Dick.” He insisted. “That’s not who you are.”

Dick pulled away from him. “You mean, that’s not what you want me to be.” He snarled back. 

They glared at each other in silence for a moment. Eventually Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was trying to calm himself down. The experience of a thousand past arguments told Dick as much. When Bruce finally spoke, it was with forced neutrality. “You didn’t even pull the trigger, Dick.”

The triteness of that detail pushed Dick over the edge. “It would have been better if I had!” He yelled.

Bruce blinked at him. “What?”

“He ruined so many lives, Bruce. And he was just getting started. But I had no way out. I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t do that to _ you_.”

“You wouldn’t have killed him regardless. Because that’s not _ who you are._” Bruce said.

“You’re wrong.” Dick said. “The Joker-“

“Damn it, Dick! This isn’t you. _ It’s him. _ Deathstroke. He’s whispering poison in your ear.”

Dick ignored him. “You shouldn’t have saved him, Bruce.”

“Don’t you _ dare _assume I made that decision lightly.” Bruce said coldly.

“How many people has he killed since then? How many people will he kill in the future? Is your code worth more than their lives?” Dick had to pause to keep his voice from shaking. “Is it worth more than mine?”

Bruce‘s eyes widened slightly. “You know it’s not.” He said quietly.

“How the hell would I?” Dick hissed back. 

Bruce stared at him in surprise. “Dick, I . . . If that’s what you think, then I’ve clearly failed you.”

“Don’t!” Dick yelled, stepping back from him. “I don’t want to hear it. You did fail me. You _ weren’t there_.” He had to fight to keep the hysterics from his voice. Bruce simply stared at him in astonishment, and Dick saw something flicker in his mentor’s eyes. Something like fear.

“Dick . . .”

Dick shook his head and looked down, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze. “I was drowning.” He said. Drowning. In rain and blood. In all those days that blurred together. In all those days with_ her. _Dick shuddered. “We almost got_ married . . ._” His words were maybe too quiet to hear. He hadn’t meant to speak them.

“What?”

Dick’s eyes snapped back to Bruce’s. “Forget it. All my life, all I wanted was to prove myself to you. To earn your . . . respect.”_ Was respect the right word? _

“You’ve always had it.” Bruce maintained stubbornly.

Dick shook his head. “You don’t trust me. You don’t trust anyone. You’re so afraid of getting close. Of getting hurt. So you push away everyone who cares about you. You push, so they can’t disappoint you. So they can’t hurt you. But in the end, _ they’re _the ones who get hurt!”

“Stop.” Bruce said through gritted teeth.

“That's why Stephanie is-“

“I said stop!” Bruce shouted. His shoulders were nearly shaking with anger, and his hands had Balled tightly into fists.

Dick glanced over him coldly, unimpressed. “What, Bruce? Do you want to hit me again?” 

There was a tense silence before Bruce finally had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. His arms dropped to his sides and the anger in his face drained away. He looked pale. “Dick. I-”

The wail of an alarm cut Bruce off just as he began to speak. The two vigilantes glanced up as the room was bathed in flashing red lights.

“Warning!” The computer’s automated voice echoed around them. “Unauthorized Access Detected in Warehouse 7-B. Security Protocol Initiated.” 

Bruce’s gaze snapped back to Dick, sharp and questioning. “_What _ did you do?”

Dick glanced down impassively at his gauntlet computer as the mechanical voice sounded another alarm. “Warning! Security Protocol Initiation Failed. System Reboot Required. System Reboot Required.” Good. They were still on track.

Bruce rounded on him with a growl. “You’ve been stalling!” He accused, anger rising as quickly as it passed. “You were never after those override codes.”

“I don’t even know if they exist. It was a hunch. But I knew it would get your attention. I just had to plant the seeds.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You _ let _Monaghan overhear your thoughts about Grid.”

“I knew you’d track him down, just as I did.” Dick said nonchalantly. “Though, I have to say. I’m insulted you’d believe a low level telepath like Monaghan could _ actually _get inside my head.” 

Bruce stared at him incredulously, then cursed under his breath. “You only wanted access to the Watchtower security system.”

“World's Greatest Detective.” Dick replied bitterly. From the Watchtower he was able to access _ everything_, even those JLA locations on Earth. More specifically, the warehouse in upstate New York where the League had stashed the Qwardian Gateway. Once he disabled the security, all he had to do was distract Bruce long enough for Slade to finish the job. 

Bruce shot Dick a glare that would have chilled anyone but a former Robin. “Computer, Initiate Override Sequence.” He commanded. “Code delta seven nine tango three.”

“Unable to Process.” The monotonous voice replied. “System Reboot Required.” The light above continued to flash ominously. 

“Uhh, guys?” Green Lantern said as he burst into the room. “There’s some kind of alert going off.”

“I’m aware!” Bruce snapped, still glowering at Dick as he pressed a hand to his ear. “Oracle, can you read me?”

Nothing but static. Barabara would be catching on soon, though. Dick knew he had only a matter of minutes at most. He gave Bruce a wry smile and took a step back.

“Dick.” Bruce growled in warning.

“What can I say. I learned from the best.” Dick said breezily. “Computer, activate Lunar Eclipse Protocol.”

“Activating: Lunar Eclipse Protocol.”

“No!” Bruce shouted. “Computer! Terminate-“

Something audibly powered down, and they were left in pitch darkness. Dick was out of the room before it was relit by Green Lantern’s light.

* * *

“I’m surprised you agreed to go along with this.”

Slade exhaled, momentarily lowering the binoculars in his hands. A breeze rustled the dying grass around his elbows. 

Billy cleared his throat after a moment. “You don’t often leave the strategizing to others.”

He was fishing, so Slade adjusted the lenses of the binoculars rather than respond, focusing his attention on the nondescript warehouse in the valley below them. It was quiet, but the subtle indications of the security system at work hadn’t passed Slade’s notice. The Justice League didn’t post living sentries, but the innocuous looking storage facility was built like a fortress. Dick had warned them to be careful. Even after shutting down the primary security defenses from the Watchtower, there could still be some nasty surprises in store.

Slade checked his watch. Still twenty minutes to go. Billy coughed again behind him, and Slade had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Ignoring the old man was more trouble than it was worth, though. “The kid needs to do this himself.” He finally said. “He needs to feel in control.” 

Billy stare was sharp. “Ah. So this is for his benefit.” He said, clearly unimpressed.

Slade grumbled under his breath and pulled himself up off the ground, pausing to brush the grass from his body armor. Above them, dark clouds threatened to chase away the last light of the day. “We should get into position.”

“What exactly _ are _your intentions, Slade?” Billy pressed, following him through the small stretch of trees that led back to the road. “Do you even know?”

“I’m completing my contract.”

“And Dick?”

“I’ve been nothing but honest with him. And as you pointed out, this was _ his _idea. Not mine.”

Billy snorted. “How convenient for you.”

Slade paused, turning to shoot Billy a questioning glare. 

“Do you really think this is in his best interest? Cutting ties with his allies? His family?” Billy exclaimed. “He’s angry. He’s lashing out. You don’t think he’ll regret this later?”

Slade sneered and turned away. “If he wanted that kind of help, he would have gone to a fucking therapist.”

“Don’t try to feed me that bullshit, Slade. I know you care. In what way you can. But this isn’t right.”

Slade began to walk away again. “His choices are his own.” He said impassively as they reached the road. The box truck was parked on the edge of the grass, where they had left it.

“Yes, and you’re happy to hand him the matches as he burns every bridge behind him. Until he has nowhere to go but you.”

Slade pulled out the keys before giving Billy a steely look. “Are you done?” He asked after a pause.

Billy stared at him for a moment before finally releasing a resigned sigh. “Yes. I’ve said my peace.”

Slade tossed him the keys and stalked to the other side of the vehicle. “Good. Get in the truck.”

Billy hauled himself up into the driver’s seat. A moment later Slade sat down beside him and slammed the passenger door shut. Billy adjusted the mirrors. “Just . . . think about what I’ve said.” He murmured, giving his partner a sidelong glance.

“Hmpt.” Was Slade’s noncommittal reply.

Billy shook his head incredulously and put the truck into drive.

When he pulled up a few meters from the tall fence circling the perimeter, Slade jumped out of the truck and cautiously approached the gate. He paused for a moment, listening for the buzz of electricity before finally calling back to Billy. “Kid’s ahead of schedule.” With that, he gripped the thick metal chain fastening the gate and pulled it apart like a paperclip necklace. 

Billy drove forward after Slade pulled open the gate, pausing to let the mercenary climb back on before continuing down the short paved road that led to the warehouse. The building didn’t _ appear _ large, but that was because the storage facility itself was located below ground. According to Dick, the main structure was nothing but a decoy. 

They parked the truck by the front and hurried to the main entrance of the warehouse, taking care to watch for any of those _ surprises _ Dick mentioned. They met nothing but silence, however, and Slade was able to force open one of the overhead doors and they slipped inside without incident.

Long rows of metal shelves reached back to the other end of the building. Slade eyed the boxes that lined them as he passed, noting the sleek WayneTech logo stamped into the cardboard. 

“Any idea where we’ll find the elevator?” Billy murmured as he scanned the open space himself.

Slade caught sight of what appeared to be an electrical room through the rows of metal. “This way.” He said, quickening his pace.

Beyond the entrance to the electrical room was a security door. Slade and Billy exchanged a glance, then the mercenary reached for the control consul, typing in the codes Dick had provided them.

After a moment the door beeped, and there was a metallic click as the lock mechanism activated. The two men stepped inside the oversized elevator and began their descent.

When the doors slid back open, Slade and Billy found themselves at the head of a long corridor. Fluorescent lights lit up the cold metal interior, and several black domes marked the security cameras that dotted the ceiling. Large metal doors were situated periodically along the hall. God only knew what the Justice League was storing here. 

“How the hell are we supposed to find the thing?” Billy said quietly.

“I can hear it.” Slade murmured, closing his eye. It was faint, but he could just make out the low thrumming Dick had described to him. “This way.” He said, starting down the corridor before taking a left where it split off. 

They took a few more turns before finally facing the vault that contained their prize. Slade appraised the reinforced door for a moment before leaning back and giving it a mighty kick. The door rattled on its hinges, but it took two more attempts before it finally gave way and fell to the ground with a crash. As Slade stepped over it, a red light began to flash above their heads.

“That can’t be good.” Billy said.

Slade was unperturbed. “Internal alerts should be blocked.” He said. _ For the moment at least_. 

The room was about half the size of the warehouse above them. The Qwardian Gateway sat in the center, humming loudly within a metal box resting on a pallet. He approached it with a frown. It seems the Bat had to foresight to add additional security measures. The crate was surrounded by some sort of electrical grid.

“Shit.”

“There has to be some way to power it down.” Billy said with a humm, circling around it thoughtfully. “Maybe there’s a . . . Aha! Found the terminal.” 

Slade prowled to Billy’s side, scanning the machinery with a narrowed eye. “We don’t have time to hack that.” He pointed out. 

“That might not be necessary.” Billy replied. He pulled a screwdriver from his pocket, and began working the panel off the consul. “I brought along one of Squirrel’s new toys. It should be able to draw enough power to overload the machine.”

Slade gave him a nod and drew back. He could leave this to Billy. Something else had caught his eye in the back of the room, anyway. Slade wasn’t surprised Wayne would leave a way to move the Gateway himself if needed, but it was good fortune that the mercenary didn’t have far to search. He strolled over the forklift, satisfied when he found the keys were still in the ignition.

There was a sudden crackle and burst from above, and Slade glanced up as a shower of sparks exploded from the lights. They flickered off, casting them in darkness for a split second before the backup generators switched on with a thrum. Slade glanced at Billy, who gave him a thumbs up. The electrical grid surrounding the Gateway had powered down.

Slade hummed and hopped into the forklift, twisting the key and experimenting with the levers for a moment before steering it to the crate. Billy scratched his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Huh. Lights must have been on the same circuit.” He muttered as Slade pulled up beside him. The older man turned and glanced at his companion with amusement. “You know how to operate that thing, Slade?”

“Yeah.” Slade grumbled, readjusting the lever for a moment, which was sticking, before finally managing to raise the mast just high enough to align with the pallet resting below the crate. He then pulled forward, and was about to raise the load when he heard something clang loudly from the corridor outside the room.

Billy glanced at him warily. “What the hell was that?”

Slade hopped out of the forklift, and took a step toward the exit with a frown. His hand drifted toward the handle of the sword at his back. 

Something flashed red in the darkness of the corridor.

“Get down!” Slade yelled, throwing himself at Billy and pushing them both to the ground just as he felt the intense heat radiate past him.

Billy looked up and gasped at the figure in the doorway. “Superman!?”

Slade pulled himself up to his feet and griminced, pulling the sword from his sheath in one smooth motion. “That thing’s not Superman.” He growled, moving into a defensive posture. 

Billy scrambled to his feet behind him. The not-Superman hovered in place, motionless. It was . . . evaluating them. 

_ Uncanny_. Slade thought, scanning the thing over. It looked just like _ him_. Only the glint of exposed metal along its right cheekbone revealed it for what it was. One of the decommissioned Superman cyborgs. Just like the one that killed Troia.

The Justice League must have locked the remaining cyborgs away in the warehouse. _ The power surge somehow reactivated it. _Slade thought darkly. “Get the Gateway to the truck.” He said through gritted teeth. “I’ll handle this thing.”

Billy knew better than to argue at that point. He turned and hurried over to the forklift, but the sudden movement triggered the cyborg’s responses, and it began to train it’s gaze on Billy. Before it could act, Slade rushed forward to meet it.

The machine barely reacted as Slade’s sword bit into the joint at its shoulder. Its neck clicked as it swayed its head in Slade’s direction like a snake, and the mercenary barely had time to duck and swear as it’s eyes blazed red heat in his direction.

Slade dove to the side and kicked out at it’s knee joint. The cyborg buckled slightly before twisting around and shooting another round of laser vision in his direction. Slade used the momentum from his dive to roll out of its path, then used the momentary distance between them to pull a throwing knife from his belt. He tossed it in one swift motion, and the cyborg’s head whipped back as the dagger pierced through one of its eyes. As it staggered, Slade took the opportunity to move back in. He pulled out the sword still lodged in the machine’s shoulder, then rammed the blade through the center of its chest with a snarl. 

For a heartbeat he thought it was over. Then a heavy metal arm swung into his chest, and Slade heard the crack of a rib as he was knocked down to the ground. There was no time to dwell on injuries though. He sensed the machine shift above him, and Slade was barely able to pull his head out of the way as a foot slammed down beside him, crunching straight through the metal floor. 

Slade grabbed the other leg and pulled, and the cyborg stumbled for a moment before catching it’s footing and aiming a powerful punch in his direction. Slade dodged the first, but grunted in pain as the other fist caught his shoulder. He caught himself before the force knocked him to the ground, and pivoted on his heels to face the machine again. The cyborg wasn’t exactly at Superman’s power level, but Slade couldn’t recall the last time he had been hit that hard.

He rubbed a hand over his shoulder and circled the cyborg, taking the moment to catch his breath. At least Billy was out of the room.

The cyborg watched him, it’s one eye mirroring Slade’s own. Slade braced to make another move, but before he could, his opponent wrenched the sword from its chest and drove it back at its owner with deadly speed. Slade swore and dove back to the floor, just in time to feel the air breeze past him. 

Slade was barely back on his feet when the cyborg descended back on him. He pulled his handgun and unloaded the clip, but the bullets bounced off the machine just as they would the original. He was about to pull an explosive charge, something he _ did not _ want to do in such an enclosed space, when the cyborg’s remaining eye began to glow red. Slade readied himself, prepared to dive out of the way of the incoming onslaught, when the cyborg’s head suddenly exploded in a shower of sparks. 

It stood upright for several seconds, spewing smoke from the pillar of its neck, before it finally collapsed with a loud clang.

Slade just stared for a moment, then eventually he approached and kneeled down at the remains. When he shifted the hot metal mess that had once been its head, he noticed the knife. He pulled it out of the cyborg and examined the blade for a moment. It must have disrupted the machine’s heat vision mechanism, causing it to explode when it was used again. Slade tucked the blade away and stood back up with a humm, taking a moment to check his watch.

This little distraction had taken up too much time. They had to get moving before Dick’s ploy was discovered.

Slade went to retrieve his sword, then headed out to meet Billy. 

* * *

Slade and Billy made it to the rendezvous in northern Jersey just past midnight. Dick had already arrived at the empty parking lot by a small roadside shop (the sign read _ Edna’s Homemade Ice Cream_). He sat perched on the top of a picnic table, worrying the strings of the hoodie covering his suit and tapping impatiently at the chipped paint. When he saw the truck pull in he immediately jumped to his feet.

“How’d it go?” Dick asked when he reached the window. 

“Great.” Slade replied dryly as he flung open the door. “Couldn’t have gone smoother.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow as Slade stepped down beside him. “What happened?” He asked.

Slade tilted his head, then drew an arm across Dick’s shoulder. “Nothing we couldn’t handle, little bird.” He murmured as he steered the vigilante towards the rear of the truck. “How was the moon?”

Dick leaned back against Slade's shoulder as they walked. “Bruce was pissed.” He offered, glancing up at the half orb in the sky. Their fight left him feeling more drained than any physical one.

“Shocking.” Slade replied. He withdrew his arm to pull up the overhead door on the truck, and Dick stepped forward to watch as their cargo was revealed. Even through the thick metal walls of the box he could hear the Gateway’s deep thrum.

“That thing’s been giving me a hell of a headache.” Slade muttered as he watched Dick climb into the truck.

Dick ran a hand along the sleek metal. “Bruce had this designed to dampen the signal it gives off.”

“So Owlman can’t track it with the energy key.”

“Right. He’d have to be close to get a reading. My guess is a mile or two, at least.”

Dick was silent for a moment, staring at the device thoughtfully as he drummed his finger against his cheek. Behind him, Slade crossed his arms. 

“We should keep moving.” Slade said after another moment.

Dick turned back and nodded, taking the hand Slade offered and hopping down from the truck. He didn’t let go when he reached the ground, though. Instead he tilted his head to look up at the mercenary's face.

“Slade . . . Thank you.” He started to say. “I-“

“You don’t have anything to thank me for.” Slade murmured in reply, lifting a hand to Dick’s chin.

Dick exhaled, and for a moment they were silent. Eventually, Slade pulled his hand away. “Let’s go.” He said, turning back towards the truck. “You should get some rest before we get started.”

* * *

It was late, but Lex was expecting the call. He let it ring three times before answering with a wide grin.

“You have news for me Terminator?” He drawled, crossing an ankle over his leg and leaning back in the leather chair. 

The grunt he received in response could be interpreted as an affirmation. _ Charming, as always_. Lex thought as he trailed a finger around the lip of the wine glass on the desk before him. 

“I have the Gateway.” Deathstroke’s voice confirmed in a low tone.

Lex smirked, leisurely picking up the glass by the top of the stem and giving the red liquid inside a gentle swirl. “Excellent. I knew I could count on you.” 

There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line before Deathstroke continued. “I’ll send you a time and location for the swap.”

“Understood.” 

Without any further pleasantries, the line went dead and Lex took a sip from the glass. Wilson had his uses, but at his heart he was nothing but a weapon. A tool to be used. A tool to be discarded when the time came.

That time was getting close.

The other man stood with his back to Lex, staring out at the twinkling skyline of Metropolis in silence. Lex set the wine glass down with a gentle clink.

“It appears things are moving along just as you predicted.” Lex said with satisfaction.

The other man shifted, then turned around to face his host. Silver light gleamed off the metallic material of the cowl. “Yes. The pieces are falling into place.”

“They had better be. I’m putting a lot on the line for this partnership.” Lex said sharply, shifting to sit up straight. “I was willing to sacrifice Dawson, but you failed to kill Deathstroke. If he learns I’m involved . . .”

“He’ll be long dead before then.” Owlman’s expression was carefully blank beneath the goggles. “And you’ll be given what you have been promised.”

Lex’s eyes shone greedily. A partnership would certainly prove useful, especially if Owlman _ actually _ managed to usurp Batman’s control as he planned. But Lex wasn’t really counting on _ that_.

No, it was the information Owlman possessed that really mattered. 

It was a risk. But that _ one name _ would make it all worth it.

Lex raised his glass with a smile. “Cheers.” He said. “To new alliances”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be very apparent at this point that I have no idea how technology works. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks to all who have read this far!
> 
> Next up: Traps are sprung


	7. Chapter 7

Slade felt something sour in his gut as he stared down at the phone in his hand. 

“Did he ask about the override codes?”

Slade brought his gaze up, catching his reflection in the dark window across the room. His own eye stared evenly back at him. “No.” He said, pausing briefly before turning around and pocketing the phone. 

Dick was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Water dripped from his hair, still wet from the shower. He took a moment to study Slade’s expression before he strolled into the kitchen with a humm. “You know he’s playing you, right?” 

He watched as the vigilante turned a chair around, sitting so he could rest his arms along the back. Eventually, Slade exhaled and leaned against the counter. “The thought crossed my mind.” He replied dryly. 

Dick gave him a wry smile. “I spoke with Green Lantern.” He said. “Sinestro’s locked up off-planet. He can’t be Luthor’s source.”

The news didn’t shock Slade, but it was enough to affirm the suspicions he had been fostering since Luthor nudged him into Owlman’s trap back in Gotham. Suspicions Dick obviously shared as well. 

Strange. He had never pegged Luthor as _ suicidal_.

“So he’s working with Owlman.” Slade concluded.

Dick nodded as he narrowed his eyes in thought. “And they plan to have you hand the portal right over to them.” 

Slade tilted his head as the vigilante mused. It was always a pleasure watching Dick Grayson at work, especially when it wasn’t at his own expense. Billy was right, he hardly ever deferred the strategy to others, but Dick had that tenacious look on his face and Slade wanted to see what the kid was capable of. He wanted to watch him _ ruin _ anyone who underestimated him. And Dick didn’t need his help for that. 

Something wicked twinkled in Dick’s eyes as he met Slade’s stare. “I’m guessing attempted murder counts as a breach of contract.” He offered suggestively.

Slade smirked back at him. “It _ is _something I try to discourage.” 

“We can set him up at your meeting.”

“Sure.” Slade replied, letting his gaze slide down the curve of Dick’s back. 

“Cripple Owlman’s support before it has a chance to grow.”

“Mmhmm.” 

“Are you listening?” Slade glanced back at Dick’s face. Despite his words he looked amused. 

“Of course I am, pretty bird.” Slade said in a low tone.

Dick stared at him for a moment, flushing slightly. Then he slid out of the chair and into Slade’s space. 

Slade wrapped an arm around Dick’s waist, hauling him closer. The vigilante hummed contentedly as he slid his hands along Slade’s sides and brushed his lips against the skin beneath Slade’s jaw. After a moment, Slade entwined his fingers through his damp raven hair, tugging gently until Dick followed the pull, arching his neck to stare up at the mercenary with half lidded eyes. 

“We should start planning.” Dick said breathlessly. In spite of his words, he strained to break the distance between their mouths.

“We should.” Slade agreed, tilting his head away teasingly.

Dick swallowed. He was looking up at Slade like he _ wanted _ him. But not like before. In the past Dick had sought Slade out as an escape, or, at times, a punishment. And Slade found that to be an acceptable arrangement. He knew Dick would always fly back to the Bat and his futile war on the degenerate predilections of man. But Slade was allowed those fleeting moments. Those nights when Dick was incontrovertibly _ his_, and his alone. Slade could live with that. Or at least, he thought he could.

“Slade . . .” Dick protested after a moment, pulling at the mercenary’s hair

All of a sudden, Slade wished he had been at the Watchtower. To see the look on Wayne’s face.

He hummed, meeting Dick’s lips with his own as he wrapped his hands around the kid’s hips. The soft noise Dick made into Slade’s mouth sent a pleasant jolt down his body, and he pressed harder into the kiss. Dick shuddered and curled his fingers into Slade’s hair. 

“Easy, kid.” He crooned after finally breaking contact. Dick let his forehead fall against Slade’s collarbone as he caught his breath. When he closed his eyes, his lashes brushed up against the exposed skin above Slade’s collar. The mercenary chuckled and began to pet Dick’s side, breathing down into Dick’s hair. It smelled like fresh spring rain. Billy was right. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t care what was right. 

Dick pressed his mouth up against his neck, nipping gently. One of his hands began to tease at the belt around Slade’s waist. “How long do we have?” Dick murmured in his ear.

He was asking when Billy and Squirrel were due, but the question made Slade tighten his grip. 

“All the time in the world.” 

* * *

The sun was rising over Wayne Manor. It’s rays sparkled off the frost that had gathered on the grass overnight.

Not that Bruce was aware. He sat hunched in a chair fifty feet below the Earth’s surface, scowling at his display monitors. The blue light emanating from the screens accentuated the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

Hours of searching, and what did he have to show for it? He was regarded as a detective. So why wasn't he making any progress? Why couldn’t he solve the puzzle that was his own son?

Dick was . . . upset with him, and _ that _ was hardly unfamiliar territory. Bruce would even go so far as to admit that this time he deserved it. He had made a _ serious _ miscalculation. Facing the Crime Syndicate had been a complicated game of deception from the start. It was _ odd _ facing an opponent with a mind so much like his own. He could see the moves to make; he knew how the situation would progress. And so could Owlman. They played the board and moved the pieces, like master chess players already aware of the inevitable stalemate, but unwilling to concede. Bruce had been determined to see it through. But he made a mistake. He fixated. And just when he thought he had Owlman in check, the board was tossed to the floor. 

Dick was right to blame him. He had every right to his anger. The issue was that Dick’s behavior had surpassed what Bruce would ever expect from him. Dick was never rash. Never desperate. Not unless something was wrong. 

He had been off since the incident in Bludhaven. Since the death of Donna Troy. Since the gang war. Was Owlman just the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back? Was it just the cumulation of the endless tragedy that ceaselessly surrounded them?

Bruce thought of Hal Jordan. Of Hank Hall. Of Jean Loring. Driven to madness by their grief and despair. Heroes reduced to killers.

But Dick wasn’t like them. Bruce knew that with every fiber of his being. 

So Bruce threw himself into the evidence. Because he was a detective and that’s what he did. Because he didn’t know what else to do. Supplemented by Dick’s own notes (which he had recently appropriated from Dr. Fledermaus’ apartment), Bruce had begun to fill in the details of his timeline, and it painted an ugly picture.

Blockbuster had launched a campaign against Dick. It had been systemic and unrelenting. Deliberately planned to keep him running from fire to fire, until exhaustion made him vulnerable. As it unfolded before him, Bruce felt an icy chill spread down his spine.

It reminded him of _ Bane _.

He should have monitored the situation more carefully. He should have seen the signs. Dick had been _ alone _, and he would never ask for help. He couldn’t. And that was Bruce's fault as well.

Alfred’s voice suddenly broke the heavy silence that hung over the cave. “Good morning, Master Bruce. The post has arrived.” He said crisply as he strolled over to the computer terminal with a pile of neatly stacked letters in hand. 

Bruce accepted the parcels with a grunt, pausing to add a “Thank you, Alfred” when the butler shot him a sharp but subtle look.

Alfred cleared his throat as Bruce placed the letters on the desk and turned back to the monitor. “I hope that you do not mind my mentioning this, sir,” He began in that painfully formal tone which meant he neither cared if Bruce minded and would not be leaving until he received a satisfactory response. “But Miss Gordon has requested that I interpose on her behalf, seeing as you have elected to forgo all forms of communication with your colleagues. 

Bruce resisted the urge to groan, and forced himself to turn around to face the older man. “I’ve been busy.” He said adamantly. Alfred did not appear impressed. He stared at Bruce sternly, like he was eight years old, and Alfred had just caught him stealing sweets from the refrigerator after midnight again. 

“With all due respect, the decisions you make now do not affect you exclusively. Masters Timothy and Cassandra have already lost loved ones. And I . . . I am loath to see any harm come to our boy.” Alfred regarded Bruce with a solemn expression. “Please, Master Bruce, I beg you to consider your actions carefully. Do not drive him further from this family.”

Bruce was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how to get through to him.” He eventually admitted. “Every time I try it makes matters worse.”

Alfred exhaled. “You will not find what you are looking for on a computer.” He said.

Bruce tapped his fingers against the chair’s hand rest. “No. I suppose I won’t.” He paused, glancing idly up at the crime scene photos plastered up on the display. Roland Desmond’s lifeless face glowered back at him grimly. “We argued last night.”

“And what did Master Dick say to you?”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “He said a lot of things.” Alfred looked at him expectantly, so Bruce continued. “He’s lost faith in who he is. He thinks he’s defined by what happened with Blockbuster and the Joker.”

“Is that what Master Dick said?”

Bruce paused a moment. “No. He said _ I _was the one who hasn’t come to terms with it. But that’s not true. I’ve watched him grow into a great man, a better one than myself. I know exactly who he is. I just wish he could see that.”

“There are lessons we can only learn for ourselves, Master Bruce.”

“Hmmm.” Bruce replied unhappily, leaning back in the chair.

“Have you considered, sir, that what he needs from you _might not_ _be _an evaluation of his character?”

Bruce glanced up at the butler, raising a brow. Alfred’s face was unreadable. 

“Just something to consider.” He said, adjusting his cuffs. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to the dishes.” Alfred dipped his head, and Bruce watched as he turned and headed back up to the manor.

Well what the hell was that supposed to mean? Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe Alfred had a point. Dick hadn’t reacted well when Bruce tried to justify his actions. Perhaps it wasn’t guilt that was driving him. 

Dick had talked about Bruce’s code. How he had been trapped by it. Did he really believe Bruce thought so little of him? That Bruce would prioritize anything over Dick’s own life?

“Damn.”

Bruce lowered his gaze. The letter at the top of the stack suddenly caught his eye.

It had no return address or stamp. Someone had hand delivered it. He picked it up, examining the envelope for a moment before gingerly tearing it open. The paper inside was folded, and looked as though it had been torn from a notebook. 

Bruce opened it up. There was a Bludhaven address scrawled inside, and just below that a time. Bruce narrowed his eyes at the sharp, narrow handwriting, then crumpled the paper in his fist.

* * *

A gull cried harshly from the boom head of a crane, beating it’s alabaster wings as it called to its airborne kin. They sailed high above Budhaven’s harbor, caught in the wind like kites. 

Dick watched them from his perch on the roof of a dilapidated factory; one of the dozens scattered along the south end of the City Dock-Commercial. Once upon a few months ago the area had been a hotbed of, well, everything. This particular building had been a methamphetamine lab. He knew that because he was the one who threw the former proprietor out the front window. 

The bird let out a final raucous cry, then, sensing the sudden presence of a predator, threw itself into the navy sky. Dick didn’t turn around as Slade strolled over to stand beside him. He kept his gaze fixed on the wide arc of white wings.

Slade was silent as he appraised the harbor below them. It was well into the evening, and if the area wasn’t already deserted, it soon would be. A perfect location for a shady exchange with a villainous billionaire. 

“It’s nearly time.” Slade mused, planting a foot on the layer of brick along the roof’s edge. “Are you sure this is how you want to do it?”

Dick watched as the harbor wind tossed the gulls. Their cheerful cackles echoed over the choppy waters. “Yeah.” He said. “It is.”

For a moment Dick thought Slade was going to argue. To refuse. There was a brief pause before the mercenary spoke again. “I said I would back your decision.” He said firmly. “I meant that.” He held out a gloved hand, and Dick finally turned to him, taking in Slade’s imperturbable expression with a sudden rush of appreciation. He knew the plan was a gamble, but he _ needed _ to do it this way, and it said something that Slade trusted him enough to see it through.

Dick took Slade’s hand, allowing the mercenary to pull him to his feet. “Thank you, Slade.” He murmured. “That means a lot.”

Slade’s reply was a curt nod, but Dick didn’t miss the way his carefully composed expression softened for a moment. Slade, like Bruce, didn’t exactly advertise what was going on inside his head, but Dick was beginning to learn how to read in between the lines, and the sentiment was there . . . sort of. Not that Slade would ever admit it. 

It was funny. Dick had learned to read Bruce’s silences years ago. Maybe he would become fluent in Slade’s as well. The thought made him grin, and Slade’s eye twitched slightly in response, like he wanted to question the gesture but also stubbornly refused to acknowledge an admission of exhibiting any and all emotions. It was cute. Dick’s smile widened, and Slade frowned at him for a moment before finally conceding with a sigh. 

“Are you ready?” He said. Dick nodded and watched as Slade glanced him over appraisingly. The mercenary's eyes lingered for a moment on the emblem emblazoned on the chest plate. “How’s the new suit?” 

“Great.” Dick replied, eyeing Slade playfully before executing a quick handspring. As he rolled back to his feet he added, “Squirrel does good work. Just don’t tell him I said so.” Dick hadn't been sure what to expect when the tech expert announced that he had finished the suit. Slade’s own armor was impressive, but it was built to augment _his _fighting style and strength. Dick’s own requirements differed drastically; he needed something lightweight and flexible. Fortunately, Squirrel did not disappoint. It almost made up for the hour long tangent on the applications of aromatic polyamides Dick was forced to sit through.

“I wouldn’t have hired him otherwise.” Slade replied flatly.

It wasn’t a far cry from what he was used to, but there were a_ few _ changes. Squirrel had convinced him to forgo the domino mask in exchange for a partial cowl. It was a little more restrictive, but it provided additional protection and Dick would get used to it. And then there was the design.

“Red, huh?”

Dick didn’t recall having a specific rationale for the color change. It had been arbitrary, really. He just needed something new. 

“So you can’t see the blood.” He heard himself say.

Slade raised an eyebrow, but fortunately decided not to comment further. And Dick certainly wasn’t going to linger to see what else slithered from whatever dark place in his head _ that _came from. He grabbed Slade’s arm and ushered him forward. 

“C’mon. Let’s get going.” He said, pushing open the door to the factory. “Can’t be late for your date with Luthor.” Slade scowled slightly but followed Dick down the grated staircase.

The ominous thrumming of the Qwardian Gateway greeted them at the main level. It sat in its metal crate with all the presence of a caged predator, but Dick approached it without hesitation. “Care to do the honors?” 

Slade grunted and stalked past him to the machine, leaving Dick to watch fondly as he forced through the metal walls with brutal efficiency. The panels clanged loudly as they fell, revealing the tall cylindrical rod that protruded from Gateway. No longer contained, the machine’s humm resonated throughout the factory.

Slade didn’t look happy, and Dick couldn’t blame him. With his enhanced hearing the Gateway must have been nearly intolerable, because it certainly wasn’t doing Dick any favors. Still, curiosity pushed him to step closer, and he took another look at the strange apparatus.

He couldn’t detect controls of any kind. The sleek black metal was smooth and unmarred, and as far as operating it went, he didn’t have the faintest idea where to even begin. But bait was bait, so Dick exhaled, then turned back to Slade. 

“You ought to get going.”

Slade nodded and pulled his mask over his face. He made it a few meters before turning to look over his shoulder. “Be careful, kid.”

Dick nodded, and the mercenary made his exit.

* * *

Luthor was _ late_. 

Slade stared across the mass of black water, utterly motionless aside from the strings of his mask, which twisted in the wind. Were it not accompanied by the foul stench of fish and waste, the salty air would have been almost pleasant. But unfortunately, this was Bludhaven.

The mercenary had taken position beneath a small crane in the shipping yard where he was scheduled to meet with Luthor. He listened to the distant clanging of buoy bells as the last light of the day bled out from the sky, growing more and more impatient as the minutes crept by. He should never have agreed to this. The warehouse where he had left Dick was only a few minutes away from his location. He could go back.

Slade inhaled deeply. Dick would handle it. He was better than Owlman. Better than the Bat. And he was going to prove that to everybody including himself. And Slade . . . would give it at least ten more minutes.

He only had to wait five before he finally heard tires crunching over gravel in the distance. He watched impassively as the SUV, a silver Rolls-Royce Cullinan with tinted windows, rolled to a stop by a stack of shipping containers a dozen or so meters away. Slade crossed his arms and waited.

Mercy Graves stepped out from the driver’s side. She was almost as tall as he was, with neatly plaited blond hair and a black, unbuttoned suit (Slade noted the shoulder holster). Rumor had it she was Amazonion, and Slade didn’t doubt it - he had seen her action. She gave him a cautionary once over and a curt nod, then pulled open the back passenger door.

“Terminator.” Luthor greeted languidly as he stepped out of the SUV. “A pleasure. As always.”

“Luthor.” Slade replied curtly.

The billionaire strolled over, smiling smugly and extending a hand. Slade didn’t move to take it, and eventually Luthor withdrew, pressing it instead against his finely tailored suit as though to smooth out an imaginary wrinkle. His grin became noticeably forced. “Right. Straight to business, then.” He waved a hand, and Mercy strode to the back of the Cullinan, popped the trunk, and retrieved a leather briefcase. “Your payment.” He said as the bodyguard returned to his side.

Slade didn’t move. He stared at Luthor, who’s eyes were beginning to narrow, then flicked his gaze to Mercy. She stiffened, sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere, but Slade drew his hand gun with the speed of a striking snake, and he had it trained on Luthor’s skull before the bodyguard could react.

In an attempt to hide his initial flinch, Luthor did his best to appear unimpressed. “Really, Wilson?”

Slade shifted, gun hand steady. Mercy took a step to his right. Her hand drifted to the holster at her side. “Tell her to back off.” He growled, tilting his head at the bodyguard. 

“It’s fine, Mercy. He’s not going to shoot me.” And she did take a step back, casting Slade an icy glare as she went.

“You think so?” Slade replied calmly. “I know you’re working with Owlman. You set me up.”

Luthor regarded him for a moment, likely calculating whether or not it was worth denying. Fortunately for Slade’s patience, he didn’t. “He only said he was going to make you an offer.” Luthor said with a shrug. “I thought you would be interested.”

“I don’t like games, Luthor.” Slade replied sharply.

“I’m aware.” Luthor said, trying for appeasing but only managing to convey condescension. “Why don’t we just complete our transaction and move on with our lives.”

Slade tilted his head, then took a threatening step forward. Luthor tensed slightly and adjusted his collar, and Mercy looked ready to pounce. “Counteroffer, Luthor.” He growled dangerously. “Walk away. I’ll take my payment and _ forget _ that you ever tried to cross me.”

Slade suddenly caught a flash of movement from his peripheral, followed instantly by the high whistle of a projectile. He dropped his hands, avoiding the batarang by a hair. It pierced the ground at his feet, just as Mercy lunged forward.

* * *

Not much had changed since Dick’s last visit to the factory. Sure, it no longer reeked of ammonia and ether, which was an immense improvement as far as he was concerned, but the building itself was still in a complete state of disarray. Back when Nightwing was the apex predator of the shadows, the labyrinth of machinery and cargo containers had been paradise. A maze through which the drug dealers ran like mice, while the Vigilante of Bludhaven plucked them from the darkness, one by one. He had staked them out for days before making his move, and now, thanks to his prior surveillance, he was quite familiar with the layout. Hopefully that would provide an advantage he would be able to press.

He had a clear view of the loading bay from his perch in the rafters. It was the only space in the factory devoid of clutter, which made it the ideal location to leave the Qwardian Gateway. Dick would have a clear view if Owlman got anywhere near it. 

He narrowed his eyes and scanned the floor. The Gateway hummed on and on below, and the longer Dick listened, the more he was convinced it was pulsating in some kind of pattern. _Thrum Thrum Thruummm _ and repeat. Over and over. The sound wasn’t even overtly _ loud_, but it was low enough that his ears were beginning to rumble uncomfortably. And maybe it was just his imagination, but he felt a little off kilter. Like it was affecting his balance. He gave his head a little shake, as if that would possibly help, and focused his attention back to the task at hand.

The bait was laid, the trap was set, and now he just had to wait.

Dick could see a sliver of sky through the open overhead doors by the loading bay, where they had parked the box truck. It was getting late, and he felt a familiar surge of anticipation - that Pavlovian response to the darkness that told him the hunt was on. He had made note of the access points Owlman was most likely to utilize, and now all he had to do was play sentry.

Maybe Owlman wouldn’t show. Maybe he thought Luthor’s deal would go through, and all he had to do was wait. They could have ambushed Slade. Dick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This wasn’t the time to doubt. Dick _ knew _Owlman wouldn’t be able to resist. He could feel it.

In all likelihood, Thomas would see the trap for exactly what it was, but that didn’t matter. He would still take the bait. As far as Owlman was concerned, this wasn’t the climax of his story, and Dick wasn’t a threat, just a piece of the game to be maneuvered. He would accept Dick’s challenge, and that arrogance would be his downfall. Dick would see to that.

All of a sudden, he felt something buzz inside his gauntlet - an alert. Something had triggered one of the scanners he had placed, more specifically the one by the hatch in the south wing. Dick pivoted without a sound and stared down intently into the darkness, but saw no sign of the intruder.

He waited, motionless for several moments, feeling his heart rate increase ever so slightly, but maintaining complete control of his breathing. The lenses of his mask enhanced visibility in the darkness, but the shadows below seemed to swarm, like a sea teeming with unseen predators. Dick crouched lower against the metal beam, narrowing his eyes as he felt his skin tingle. He wasn’t alone. He could _ feel _ it.

Something shifted below - something more substantive than a trick of the mind. Dick leaned forward, but the low drone of the gateway made it difficult to pick up any distinct sounds from this distance. Another flicker of shadow drew his attention, by a gangway that led to the loading bay, and this time he was sure it had been the edge of a cape. Eyes fixed on his target, Dick began his descent down the beam, as silent and focused as a cat prowling after a mouse.

His target wasn’t helpless prey, though, and Dick proceeded through the maze of machinery with caution. He recalled that the gangway led back to the main floor, near an array of discarded cargo containers. Not a bad location for an ambush.

Dick made his way to the stacked containers with his eyes peeled. Somewhere nearby he heard something rustle, and he instinctively froze for a moment, scanning his surroundings attentively before deciding he could continue on with minimal risk of detection. Owlman, like the Bats, was a master of stealth, and tracking his movements took complete vigilance. The signs were subtle, maybe imperceptible to the untrained eye, but Dick caught each flicker of movement, and he was close enough to discern the natural creaking of metal from that of a footstep. 

Dick finally reached his destination, and silently pounced down to the stack of cargo containers that overlooked the warehouse floor leading to the gangway. Something suddenly clanged nearby.

Dick’s mouth parted slightly as he prowled closer, and without making a sound he drew the eskrima sticks from his back. He stalked, low against the metal beneath him, and after sidestepping a large beam he looked down, preparing to pounce.

Nothing.

“Hello Richard.”

Dick spun around with a snarl, eskrima at the ready, ignoring the sudden drop in his chest.

Round lenses stared down at him like twin moons, cold and inhospitable. 

“Owlman.” Dick said through gritted teeth. 

Thomas Wayne Jr. straightened up to full height from the beam he was perched on. He was taller than Bruce. “I suppose I should thank you for sending your dog away. It makes this so much simpler.” He said, tilting his head.

“It won’t be so easy. I’m ready for you this time.” Dick promised as he twirled the eskrima sticks in anticipation. “I’m going to finish this.”

Owlman chuckled. It was a cruel, unfeeling sound. “No, my boy. We’re just getting started.” 

Dick braced himself as Owlman attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Batman vs. Deathstroke! Dick vs. Owlman!
> 
> Thanks for reading so far!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally supposed to finish with chapter 7, but it got longer and longer, so chapter 9 will be the conclusion now.

Dick pivoted on the balls of his feet as Owlman dropped down on him, using the sticks to deflect the incoming blow and redirecting the other man’s momentum to his right. Owlman staggered but recovered quickly and spun around, just in time to divert the eskrima stick bearing down on him with a plated forearm, but failing to dodge as the other struck his shoulder. Dick was able to keep Owlman on defense for a few more blows, but a well aimed kick forced him to abandon his assault.

Dick jumped backwards. Owlman straightened up but made no move to press forward. His gaze was cold and appraising. Dick knew that Thomas was still trying to feel him out. That he wasn’t _ really _trying to win yet. But neither was Dick. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight. For either of them. 

Owlman’s eyes glinted darkly beneath the goggles. “Batman’s training dulled your edge.” He said as they began to circle. “You could be _ lethal _ with a little work. You could-“

Dick lunged forward, deciding to forgo the super villain monologue. He fainted with his right stick and jabbed Owlman in the ribs with his left. Owlman grunted, dodged Dick’s next blow, then parried another. 

It almost felt like fighting Bruce, and Dick found himself falling into a familiar rhythm. He was faster than Owlman, and the eskrima sticks gave him a longer reach. He was able to land a few more blows before Owlman managed to catch his arm and twist. Dick hissed as pain shot through his wrist, which had not completely healed from the fracture. Owlman followed up with a knee to his gut, forcing the vigilante to drop to one leg. He twisted harder and the eskrima clanged to the ground.

Dick didn’t wait for Owlman to press his new advantage. He struck up with his remaining stick, and there was a sickening _ crack _ as it connected with Owlman’s jaw.

Owlman staggered back. Blood dripped down his mouth and something vicious gleamed in his eyes. He looked more dangerous than ever.

Dick rose to his feet and shifted into a ready stance. He stared at Owlman steadily. “I’m sorry. Too much edge?” 

“You’re going to pay for that.” Owlman growled before lunging forward.

\--

Slade was caught off guard by the weight behind Mercy’s punch, and it actually threw him off balance. She got in another hit before Slade broke past her defenses and knocked her down with a solid kick.

Something shifted behind him. Slade spun around, raising an arm to block Batman’s incoming attack. Wayne bared his teeth and threw another punch. How the hell did _ he _ know about this? 

Slade scowled. It must have been Owlman.

He dodged and squared off against his new opponent. The Bat was angry. He wouldn’t be fighting in such close proximity otherwise. Not against an opponent like Deathstroke. Wayne could strike with surgical precision, but even if he managed to land a blow (and Slade wasn’t going to make that easy), it wouldn’t do much against Slade’s armor. So Batman was either too angry to care, or was trying to push Deathstroke into aggression. 

“Where’s Nightwing?” The Bat growled as Slade deftly dodged and parried each strike delivered.

Slade didn’t reply. He heard something click behind him, so he shifted his weight, dropping to one knee as Mercy unloaded her clip in his direction. He lowered his head, and the few bullets that made contact bounced uselessly off his ballistic armor. 

He saw Batman lunge in her direction. One of his fists connected with her jaw, and the gun fell to the ground. Slade took the moment to glance back at the SUV. Luthor had vanished. That couldn’t be good.

Slade turned back to his opponents and pulled a throwing dagger, which he then flung in Mercy’s direction. She pulled to the side with an angry snarl. It missed, but the bodyguard was thrown off her rhythm. Batman used the distraction to knock her off balance and land a blow to the base of her skull. She fell to the ground with a grunt.

With Mercy momentarily subdued, Batman rounded back on Slade. The mercenary caught the gleam of a batarang in his hand. “Where is he?” Batman demanded as he prowled forward.

“He’s with the Gateway.” 

Batman frowned, then realization dawned upon him. “You left him? To fight Owlman alone?”

“He can handle Owlman.” Slade growled back.

The Bat’s glare intensified. He raised the arm gripping the batarang. “Where?”

Slade snorted but didn’t move. Wayne looked mad enough to attack, but suddenly something hissed loudly behind them.

“Looks like once again I have to take matters into my own hands.” Luthor’s mechanized voice chided. Slade scowled as the billionaire stepped forward, encased in the thick metal exoskeleton of his Lexcorp Battle Suit. He raised one of his hands. The machine made a loud _ whirr _. Slade knew enough about Luthor’s applied research into particle beam weapons to take the threat seriously. “Do me a favor and stand still.” He said with a smirk as the gun powered up with a flash of green light.

\---

Owlman bore down on Dick with a renewed fury, forcing him to remain on the defensive. He avoided the worst of the strikes, but Thomas was pressing him back. They inched closer and closer to the Gateway. Dick could hear it thrum with anticipation.

Eventually Dick found his opening. He managed to swipe Owlman’s hand to the side with his remaining stick, and thrusted his palm into Thomas’ unguarded face. His wrist screamed in protest, and Owlman snarled as more blood streamed down his mouth. Dick took the chance to drive a heavy kick into his opponent’s chest, dropping him to the floor.

His success was short-lived. Dick saw Owlman reach for his belt. He caught sight of the object that Thomas pulled, and automatically turned and covered his ears as the flashbang hit the ground. It went off with a loud _ crack _ and a burst of light that Dick could still see through his eyelids.

The blast left him with a jarring ring in his ears and spots in his eyes, but he didn’t waste any time before spinning back around, figuring Owlman would choose to press the advantage.

He was wrong, though. Owlman had retreated several meters away. The look on his face was venomous. “Enough. I’ve wasted enough time.” Owlman hissed.

And Dick froze. Because suddenly he was staring down the barrel of a gun. 

_ Damn. _ He was too far to to close the gap between them, and too close to be missed by even an amateur marksman. And Owlman was far from that. “I thought you wanted me alive.” Dick ventured, hoping to buy a little time.

Thomas’s face contorted into a bloody sneer as he cocked the gun. “You’re starting to become more trouble than you’re worth.” He said coldly. “I’m willing to cut my losses if I must.” He waved a hand toward the Gateway. “Hands up. Drop the stick. Turn around and walk.”

Dick hesitated for a moment, but Thomas bared his teeth and Dick’s wasn’t so sure he was bluffing. He reluctantly let go of his remaining escrima and placed his hands above his head, then turned to the aberrant machine. The black metal gleamed unnaturally in the darkness of the factory.

“Stop.” Owlman eventually said when Dick stood a few meters away. “You can turn around. But if you try anything I’ll put a bullet through your skull.” 

Dick watched warily as Owlman prowled over to the Gateway. He just needed to get a little closer; to wait for a lapse in the man’s attention. He considered inching forward, but the gun was still fixed on him, and Thomas was eyeing him watchfully as he ran a hand along the sleek metal.

“What are you doing?” Dick asked as he took a subtle step closer.

Thomas didn’t answer him. Instead he flashed a wicked smile and reached for something fixed to his belt. Dick strained to see what it was he had pulled out. It looked flat and black. Like the metal covering the Gateway.

Something clicked in Dick’s head. It was the key.

Dick tensed, and Owlman seemed to sense it. He focused his attention back on Dick, centering his aim. “Don’t.” Thomas said in a dangerous tone. And Dick really didn’t see any other option but to comply.

Owlman appraised him for another moment before turning his attention to the small black tablet in his hands and stroking a thumb along its length. Dick couldn’t be sure, but he thought he felt something vibrate. Like the machine was responding. 

Thomas shot him another dark look, then pressed the key up against the metallic side of the machine itself. This time the reaction was undeniable. It pulsated, louder than ever. Dick almost swayed as a wave of vertigo washed over him. He felt his stomach turn over uneasily. The Gateway was visibly resonating, almost shaking, and suddenly the large cylinder in the center began to rise.

He was activating it.

Owlman seemed unaffected by the machine's pulsations. He ran another finger along the key. A row of glowing purple dots trailed after the touch.

“Why are you doing this?” Dick exclaimed, taking another step forward.

Thomas glanced at him smugly. “I’m sending the riffraff home.” He said casually. “_Batman_ was right. The Syndicate is dangerous. If they escape it will interfere with my plans.”

Dick frowned. “But it will send you back too.” And even as he said the words he realized that probably wasn't true.

The smile spreading on Owlman’s face chilled Dick to his core. 

The Gateway let out another loud _ thrum. _ The cylinder began to turn, and its tip began to glow ominously, the same dark purple as the key. 

“This device isn’t just a key.” He said with a dark chuckle. “It’s the _ controls _.” He trailed his finger along the key, making strange patterns along its surface. “And I’ve made a few adjustments.”

“What do you mean?” Dick didn’t like where this was going. He needed to do _ something _. As the other man focused on his task, Dick moved in as close as he dared.

“I’ve used the key to alter the energy signatures tied to the gate.” His goggles were glowing purple in the light. “We don’t share the same identity, but there’s still . . . something that links Bruce and I. It was just enough to bind him in my place.”

Dick felt his blood run cold. “No.” 

Owlman chuckled darkly. “Let's see how Batman likes _ my _world.”

\--

Luthor’s weapon erupted with more power than Batman had anticipated, and it threw him across the clearing like a ragdoll. He tucked in his head automatically, rolling with the force, minimizing impact. Dirt and sand plumed around him in a cloud.

Batman coughed and dragged himself up to his feet, grasping the shoulder that had caught the brunt of his collision with the ground. It throbbed angrily, but it didn’t feel dislocated. Up ahead he could see the glow of Luthor’s weapon, diluted by the dust. He narrowed his eyes and watched for movement.

Luthor was pressing forward in the other direction. Targeting Deathstroke no doubt.

This was Owlman's doing. He was pitting them against one another. Distracting them. Bruce had already concluded that he was the one who left him the letter detailing their meeting. Just a diversion. And that made it all the more necessary that Bruce found Dick quickly. 

Deathstroke had drawn his sword by that point. He dodged between the blasts as Luthor launched another volley. 

Bruce turned away and pulled his grapple with an unhappy grunt. Leaving the two powerhouses to their battle went against every instinct he had, but he _needed_ to find Dick. 

He scaled to the top of a crane with a sweep of his cape, giving him a visual of the entire shipyard. He noted the line of warehouses and factories that dotted the harbor. That was where Dick would be. Deathstroke would never leave the Gateway too far out of reach. Not if he was anticipating an attack by Owlman. If Batman was able to get close enough he’d be able find some trace of the portal.

Movement from below grabbed his attention. Smoke was pouring from a section of Luthor’s armor. Deathstroke must have gotten in a decent hit. The mercenary was on the defensive, though. Luthor was pushing him hard.

But that wasn’t what caught his eye. There was another figure, lurking along the edge of a stack of shipping containers. Before he saw the face, he caught sight of the long cylindrical silhouette. 

It was an anti-tank missile launcher.

Batman exhaled sharply. Mercy Graves was out of the equation. That left Hope Taya, Luthor’s other Amazonian bodyguard. He could make out the dark spray of her hair in the moonlight as she took aim at Deathstroke. The mercenary fought on below, unaware.

_ Damn it. _

Bruce readied himself at the edge of the crane, prepared to launch himself down at the Amazon. Then it hit him. He felt a wave of vertigo and dropped to his knees, and something thrummed so loudly that he thought his eardrums would blow. He gripped the hard metal below him, willing himself not to slip. Forcing his eyes open, only to find them assaulted by the bright shine of purple light. His skin began to tingle and his stomach turned. 

Then the floor dropped from beneath him, and he was falling.

\-- 

Dick knew it was now or never. Screw the gun pointed at him.

He lunged at Owlman, who cursed, and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a thunderous _ crack _, but Dick ignored the sudden hot pain in his side. He threw all of his weight at the other man, toppling them both to the cold cement. 

Dick didn’t bother to see where the gun landed. He drove his elbow down hard. Owlman grunted beneath him.

The pitch of the machine’s humming was getting higher. Dick pulled himself up to his feet, pressing a hand against his side. The sting from the pressure made him grimace, but the bullet had only grazed him, and he was running out of time, so pushed aside the pain and moved.

Owlman chuckled darkly as Dick hurried over the Gateway to examine the key. The strange black plate appeared to be firmly fixed. “You can’t deactivate it now.” He said as he got up to his feet unhurriedly.

Dick ignored him as he reached for the black metal. It was cold, like ice. He ran his hand over the surface as Owlman had, not really sure what he was expecting. 

Nothing. Crap. This wasn’t happening. He began to pry desperately at the plate, but it might as well have been welded on. Owlman laughed again, but made no move to stop him. “You’re wasting your energy, Richard.”

There might not be time to figure out how to shut the machine down manually, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stop it. Dick turned around, scanning frantically across the length of the factory. For something. _ Anything. _

The box truck by the loading bay caught his eye. Bingo.

The strange light of the Gateway was getting brighter, and Dick was unable to make out the words Owlman shouted at him over the now deafening thrum of the portal as he sprinted over to the drivers side door. 

The keys were still in the ignition. Small miracles. Thanks, whatever deities we’re looking over bird themed vigilantes that night.

He turned the engine over and put the truck into drive. It started with a jerk and rolled forward. Slowly. far too slowly. Dick cursed under his breath and pushed down hard on the gas pedal, forcing the wheels to squeal in protest. Damn, damn, damn. There wasn’t room to pick up enough of speed. If the Gateway’s metallic structure was reinforced . . Dick didn’t even want to think about the world that Bruce would be doomed to. No matter how he currently felt about the man.

No time to bail. Not without risking much needed speed. He took his last few seconds to latch the seatbelt, just in time for the moment of impact. Just in time to get bodily rammed forward as metal crunched and glass shattered around him, while the belt dug painfully into his shoulder, whipping his head back against the headrest. And for a moment all he could see was the flash of bright sparks. Maybe metal on metal. But more likely the beginnings of a concussion.

The high shriek of the Gateway seared through Dick’s head. And when he opened his eyes (when had he shut them?) he was met with an explosion of purple sparks. That must be a good sign right? Or was it just supposed to do that? Dick shook away the cotton that was trying to fill his head and stepped back on the gas. There wasn’t time to properly evaluate. His head was throbbing but he was trained to act through injury. To finish the job no matter what.

The engine of the box truck roared. Wheels screeched. And Dick could smell burning rubber and gasoline. The shriek of the machine reached a crescendo, and suddenly the tall cylinder protruding from the Gateway lurched perilously to the side.

Dick watched it crash to the ground with a rush of relief. Relief despite the fact that he could feel blood dripping down the side of his head. Or that his shaking hands were failing with the latch of the seat belt. He did it. He must have. Because if he failed. . .

Black smoke poured from the collapsed engine compartment. Damn. He needed to get out. Like now. Because he didn’t know the nature of the purple sparks sputtering from the base of the machine, and he was definitely not interested in finding out how they interacted with gasoline.

He finally managed the seatbelt when the truck’s door was wrenched open. Dick didn’t even have time to turn before he was bodily pulled out from the cabin.

\---

As quickly as it came, the overwhelming disorientation that overcame him disappeared, and the world stopped spinning around and around. 

Bruce pushed aside the intense feeling of nausea, defying the urge to hurl what was left of Alfred’s escarole soup over the edge of the crane as he struggled back to his feet. What the hell had hit him? And why did it stop?

As he steadied himself against the rail, something blasted loudly down below. Luthor and Deathstroke were still fighting, apparently unaffected by whatever had hit _ him _. Bruce growled to himself. He’d have to figure it out later. There wasn’t time.

He turned his attention back to the cargo containers. Hope has finished setting up the missile launcher. Now she appeared to be waiting for a clear shot.

As Batman calculated the distance and secured his grapple, a part of his brain told him to walk away. Walk away and let Hope take her shot, and he would have one less problem to deal with. He’d never have to think about that man again. About what he might do to Dick.

But that wasn’t an option. It never was. So Batman exhaled sharply and leapt down from his perch.

He barreled into Hope a split second before the missile launcher went off. It whistled violently as it shot through the air, but Bruce didn’t have a chance to see the results. Hope gripped the weapon like a bat and swung, forcing him to roll down from the stack of cargo containers. The Amazon leaped after him like a pouncing cat. 

He parried and dodged the next string of blows. Unlike Mercy, she preferred to fight in the traditional style of their people, but it wasn’t identical to Diana’s. It was like another dialect, and there was an accent to her movements that he could recognize from his observations of Artemis during her stint as Wonder Woman. It was the style of the Amazons of Bana-Mighdall. Bruce waited for an opening as her attacks grew more and more brutal. He knew he needed to be patient. Her strength might not rival Wonder Woman herself, but even those Amazons not blessed by their Gods had an extra edge, and a might that bordered on the unnatural. The problem was he didn’t have time for this. Dick was alone, right where Owlman wanted him. Bruce had to-

He let out a grunt of pain as Hope struck a fist into his ribs. The pain drove him down to one knee. Bruce raised an arm, ready to deflect her next blow, but it didn’t come. Bruce looked up, and found Hope staring behind him with a snarl.

Bruce sprung up to his feet and spun around, hand drifting to the sharp ache within his side.

Deathstroke was gripping Luthor (minus the battle suit) by the back of his neck. In his other hand he held a gun, which was pressed to the billionaire's temple. “Back off, Taya.” He growled dangerously.

Hope’s eyes narrowed but she took a step away. Luthor shifted uneasily, and his face twisted with malice. 

“Let him go, Slade.” Bruce said in a low tone.

Deathstroke’s eye flicked over to him, and Bruce could imagine the sneer beneath the mask. He didn’t reply to the demand, though. Instead he leaned down, and spoke directly into Luthor’s ear. “You know I don’t work for free, but I bet I’ve got a dozen clients on speed dial, most of them friends of yours, that will pay for the bullet I put in your head. Give me a reason, Luthor.”

Luthor’s teeth clenched. “How about a change to our previous arrangement?” He said quickly. “I’m willing to cut my losses at this point. I walk away, and you get double.”

“Triple.”

“_Fine. _” Luthor hissed, and Slade holstered the gun.

“Not happening.” Batman replied immediately. 

There was a cruel gleam in Luthor’s eyes as he began to back away. “You’d better hurry after your protege, _ Bat _.” He drawled. “Owlman’s been waiting to hook his talons into that boy.”

Before Bruce could make a move, Deathstroke stepped between them. “He’s right. But if you want to waste time, I'm happy to oblige.” He said, tone impassive but uncompromising. “Or we can find Nightwing." His hand began to drift back to the sword at his back as he met Bruce's glare with his own cool stare. "It's your choice, _Batman_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to plan multiple fight scenes happening at once.  
Thanks to everyone who read so far!


	9. Chapter 9

Dick’s ears were ringing and his body ached. Just about everywhere at that point. Sharp stinging at his right side (bullet wound), hand throbbing angrily (fractured wrist), head in a vice (drove a freakin truck into an alien transportation device), among other miscellaneous lacerations and bruises that were beneath his attention at that moment, mainly because said attention was currently preoccupied with the hostile super villain looming over him.

“Richard . . .” Owlman’s voice was deceptively calm. “That was incredibly foolish.” 

Dick squinted up at him, resisting the urge to groan. The sharp metal edges of Owlman’s armor gleamed as he leaned over Dick. His face remained carefully blank, but the glint in his eyes betrayed the repressed wrath behind the mask.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Dick said slowly, watching as a trail of blood trickled down from Thomas’ broken nose. “That went exactly as I planned.”

“You’re an impudent creature.” Owlman wiped a hand across his face as he spoke, streaking red across his cheek. “I can see the reflection of my own boy in you. And this world . . . no, _ Batman, _ has bred an even greater insolence in you. One he can’t control. And now you’ve strayed too far away. Just like my poor _ Talon_.” He tilted his head; the expression on his face was a mockery of pity. 

“You never cared about Talon.” Dick replied sharply, pushing himself up to his hands and knees. “You just used him.”

Owlman let out a humorless chuckle, and Dick felt a heavy boot press down on his back, forcing him onto the ground. “No, I just gave him what he wanted. What _ you _want.” 

Dick glared past the man’s other boot as his chin scraped against rough cement. Behind Owlman, the remains of the Gateway continued to spit out strange sparks. They reflected off metal surfaces and casted aberrant shadows throughout the building. Across the factory floor, the barrel of Owlman’s discarded gun gleamed with purple light.

A gloved hand suddenly curled into Dick’s hair, pulling roughly until he was forced to meet Owlman’s cruel gaze. “Do you know what that is, _ Dick _?”

Dick stared back at him steadily. “Yeah. I want to skip the megalomaniac’s speech for once in my life.”

Thomas appraised him for a moment with cold gray eyes. Then he let go of his grip on Dick’s hair with a jerk and took a step back.

Dick gritted his teeth as he slowly propped himself up on his forearms, and his entire body screamed at the effort. Okay, he definitely had a few bruised ribs to add to the checklist. Maybe a little whiplash, too. But now wasn’t the time to show weakness. He watched Owlman’s movements from the corner of his eye as he pushed himself up to his knees. The other man didn’t try to stop him this time.

“I understand now why you’ve run off with your pet mercenary. But Bruce is weak. Afraid. He can’t give you what you want. And no cry for attention will change that.”

“Go to Hell. You don’t know me _ or _what I want.”

“I do, though. You want what every good son wants. To be trusted. Valued. Loved. Richard and I had our differences, but he always knew he had a place beside me. He knew where he belonged.”

“Why don’t we skip the whole ‘be my Talon’ spiel.” Dick said as he rose stiffly back to his feet. “It might have been more convincing if you hadn’t threatened to kill me five minutes ago. Not by much, but still.”

Thomas frowned at him. “I meant what I said before. I don’t _ want _ to hurt you. But I can’t let you interfere with my plans any longer. So I’ll give you one last chance to surrender.” 

“Hard pass.” 

Owlman sighed. “Then I have no choice.” He said, before throwing himself at the vigilante.

Dick managed to sidestep the attack, even though his ribs cried out at the movement. “Do you ever get tired of speaking in cliches?” He asked, in lieu of groaning with pain, as he redirected the next blow to his right.

Owlman responded with a nasty left hook that Dick only narrowly managed to avoid. This was no longer a fight he could win. Not anymore. His injuries weren’t life threatening, but it was enough to slow him. All Owlman had to do was wear him down until he slipped up. 

Dick grunted when he was forced to block Owlman’s next blow with his injured wrist. He moved backwards, counting his steps as the other man drove him towards the Gateway, concentrating on blocking each strike delivered. Refusing to allow Owlman through his defenses until he was close enough . . . 

“It’s over now.” Owlman growled between heavy breaths. “Just give up.”

“No.” Dick ducked beneath a fist, then rammed his shoulder into Thomas’ chest. The other man grunted, but then twisted and shoved Dick down. The vigilante rolled on instinct, but before he could get back to his feet Thomas was towering over him. Again. Dick was getting tired of this.

Apparently so was Owlman. He wrenched out the knife strapped to his thigh. Fury was seeping through the cold exterior of his countenance.

Dick swallowed and blindly reached behind him. If he measured the distance correctly . . . 

“It pains me greatly to do this, Richard.” Thomas hissed as he brandished the knife. “But sometimes it’s necessary to just move on.”

Dick felt his heart pound as he ran his hand along the ground. “Yeah.” He said, voice shaking as his fingers brushed up against something resting on the cement. “I guess it is.”

Thomas froze above him when Dick grasped the handle of the gun and turned it on him. Then he laughed. “Are you going to shoot me, Richard?” He said, goggles gleaming with malice.

Dick took a deep breath. Then he pulled the trigger.

—-

They didn’t exchange a word as they made their way to the dilapidated factory. Not until Slade stopped without warning by the edge of the building. 

“The Gateway.” He murmured as he glanced up at the black windows. “I can’t hear it.” 

Bruce grunted and brushed past him, entering through the open overhead doors. The reason Slade couldn’t hear the Gateway was immediately obvious.

What was left of the machine was a twisted mass of warped metal, still smoking and sparking. The truck embedded in its side was totaled, and the front of the vehicle had caved in like an accordion.

Something twisted in Bruce’s gut as he approached the wreckage. The purple light that flashed from the machine was just like before. During his episode on top of the crane. Just what the hell had happened?

Bruce frowned and walked forward, peering into the darkness ahead of them. The machine was only buzzing weakly by that point, but Bruce couldn’t hear anything over the static. He opened his mouth, ready to call out, but before he could speak a sudden _ crack _ thundered over the Gateway’s dying humms. It reverberated through Bruce’s chest. He felt his throat tighten and his blood turn cold as he broke into a run towards the noise. 

“Dick!” He shouted when the two figures came into view. One was down, and his heart immediately dropped before he registered that Dick was still standing. And then Bruce caught sight of the gun in his hand. And the crimson crest splayed across his suit. A match to the blood pooling at his feet. “Dick . . .” He said in a lower tone.

Dick flinched and looked up at him with a flicker of surprise. The gun in his hand was lowered to the ground. Bruce could see more blood, his own, dripping down along his hairline. Any other injuries were concealed by the stark black suit.

“Bruce.” Dick answered faintly. 

Thomas Wayne Jr. suddenly jerked at his feet with a strained groan, and reached for his leg. Bruce could see the wound now. Dick had shot him in the knee. “You miserable _ wretch.” _ Owlman shrieked, clutching his hand against the dripping wound. “I’ll gut you for this.”

“I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything.” Slade said calmly as he strolled forward, past Bruce, to kick the discarded knife away and crouch down by the injured man’s side. 

“I’ll kill you all!” Owlman hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll-“ He broke off with a strangled moan when Slade not so gently gripped his leg to examine the injury.

“That doesn’t look like it’s going to heal well.” The mercenary offered coldly before releasing the man and standing back up. 

“Enough.” Bruce said as he retrieved a pair of cuffs from his belt. Thomas snarled at him, but he didn’t put up a struggle as Bruce kneeled down and pulled his arms behind his back, securing the cuffs around his wrists. “I’ll send an alert to the League.” Bruce said as he shifted to take a closer look at the gunshot wound. “We’ll take Owlman back to the Watchtower.”

Owlman flinched as Bruce pressed his thumb along the edge of the oozing wound. “This isn’t over.” He hissed.

“It is for you.” Bruce replied, reaching for the travel sized tourniquet in his first aid pouch. “Stay still, and don’t try anything. Unless you’d rather lose the blood.”

“If you had any sense of self preservation you’d let him.” Slade commented. 

Bruce frowned but focused on the task before him, ignoring Owlman’s grunt as he wrapped the strap deftly around his thigh. Thomas let out another hiss of air as it was tightened.

“You’re bleeding.” Slade said pointedly after a moment. Bruce glanced up. The mercenary was staring at Dick, who had a hand pressed against his side. 

Dick didn’t take his gaze off of Thomas. “He got a shot off.” He murmured, expression unreadable. “It’s just a graze.” He sounded about as exhausted as he looked, and it was another moment before he finally looked up at them. “What happened with Luthor?”

Slade hummed, and Bruce found himself scowling at the sound. “He‘s gone. Pockets significantly lighter.” 

Dick nodded. Then he glanced down at the gun he was holding, like he had forgotten he had it, and he let it drop from his hand and clatter to the ground. “So it’s over.” He said quietly.

Bruce exhaled and slowly stood up. “Dick . . .” He started to say. “I . . . We need to talk.”

Dick blinked at him. Then he glanced over at Slade.

“Please.” Bruce said quietly.

Dick’s eyes were wide when he turned back to him. “Bruce. I’m . . . I don’t think I-“

“Just let me say what I have to.” 

There was another long pause. Then Dick gave him a small nod, and carefully stepped around Owlman’s form. Behind him, Slade glanced between them with an unreadable expression.

“I’m not looking for a fight.” Bruce assured when Dick looked at him expectantly.

“Then what _ do _ you want? Because fighting is all we seem to do.” His words were sharp, but Dick didn’t sound as angry as he did before. Just tired.

Bruce swallowed the taste of guilt. “I know. And it’s time I took responsibility for my role in that.” Bruce took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dick. I’m sorry for how I handled this situation. I was shortsighted. Arrogant. My actions put you in danger. And I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

Dick sighed and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. “Bruce, I know none of this was your intention.” He said quietly. “We’ve all been through a lot lately, but sometimes it feels like you don’t trust me. Like you don’t think I can handle what you’ve trained me to do.”

“That’s not true.” Bruce replied adamantly. “You’re one of the most talented, capable people I know. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, and what you’ve accomplished.”

“Then why . . .?” Dick started, voice straining just slightly.

Bruce exhaled. “You were right. I’ve made many mistakes. With Stephanie. With Jason. I was . . . _ Am _ afraid of what could happen. And I could never bear losing _ you _ too. It was . . . difficult during those years. When you were beginning to outgrow me. When I knew you’d have to find your own path. And I was scared. And it was easier to push away rather than live with the fact that there was nothing I could do about it. And after Jason died . . . You were right, I didn’t want to get hurt. And in the process I’ve hurt the people I care about. I hurt you.”

Dick stared at him, and then after a moment of hesitation, he placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “What I said at the Watchtower . . . I was angry before.” He murmured. “It hasn’t been easy for any of us lately.”

Bruce met Dick’s somber gaze. “And I’m sorry for that too. I should have been there. I should have seen what you were going through.”

Dick frowned and pulled his hand away. “Bruce, just . . . forget it. You had enough to deal with as it was.” 

“I know what he did to you, Dick. I know that Blockbuster put you in an impossible position. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you lost. I’m sorry that I made you feel that you had to face him alone. And I need you to know, even if you pulled that trigger yourself . . . It wouldn’t matter. Nothing in the universe will ever change the fact that you’re my son.”

By the time Bruce had stopped, Dick’s eyes had grown wide. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Bruce took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in tight. A few seconds passed before Bruce felt Dick’s own arms press against his back. They stood like that for several moments, and when Bruce glanced up over Dick’s shoulder, he realized that Deathstroke was gone. 

“Bruce . . .” Dick started to say as they pulled apart. “I don’t know . . . I’ve been so lost.”

“It’s okay. We can figure this out.” Bruce promised.

Dick frowned at him. He looked torn. Uncertain. And suddenly his gaze was flickering back to the shadows, searching. For _ Deathstroke _. And Bruce felt something bitter in his throat. He pulled at Dick’s arm for his attention.

“Come back to Gotham.” He said firmly. “You can stay at the manor for a while. As long as you need. It can be like before.”

“I _ can’t- _“

“Yes, you _ can._ We’re family, Dick. And there’s nothing that can change that.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He bit his bottom lip and glanced up at the dark skylights. It was several moments before he met Bruce’s gaze again. “I-“

Harsh laughter cut Dick off before he could speak. The two heroes glanced back. Owlman shifted where he had been bound, and gave them a bloody smile. “You sound so convincing.” He crooned, tilting his head as he stared up at Bruce.

Batman only glared back in response. He felt his jaw clench tightly.

Owlman’s gaze flicked back to Dick. “Oh Richard. You’re so much like my own. So eager for acknowledgement. _ He _always came back too. All I ever had to do was ask.”

“Be. Quiet.” Bruce growled.

“Always the loyal soldier.”

“I said _ enough_.”

Thomas’s eyes glinted at him wickedly for a moment, but he didn’t reply to the command. Instead he addressed Dick again. “I’ve rather enjoyed my time on this Earth. I’ve learned a lot. And I think _ next _time we meet will be even more interesting.”

Dick glared at the man steadily. “There won’t be a next time.”

Owlman tutted. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve already started making new friends. Some of them have _ the most _ interesting stories to share.” Something malicious gleamed in his eyes. “Why, that reminds me. Miss Flores asked me to give you her regards.”

Bruce didn’t miss the way Dick flinched. He glanced between them with a frown. Flores? “Tarantula?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

“Nothing.” Dick snapped, much too quickly. His sharp gaze was still fixed on Owlman.

Bruce frowned and looked back at his doppelgänger. The man met Dick’s glare with a smug smile, and though he didn’t say another word, something unsaid passed between the two.

“Dick.” Bruce said softly.

Dick’s eyes flashed back to his, and his posture immediately turned defensive.

Another chuckle escaped from Thomas’ throat. “What’s this? You’ve haven’t told Bruce?” 

“What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing.” Dick hissed. “I . . . She . . .” He took a step backward, and his eyes darted toward the exit.

Bruce took a deep breath and put out his hands placatingly, moving slowly, as though any sudden movement might cause the boy to flee. “Dick, it’s okay.” He said softly, despite the icy drop he was beginning to feel in his chest. “It’s okay. Just talk to me.”

Dick shook his head. “There’s nothing _ to _talk about.” He ran his hand through his hair anxiously, and Bruce could see the way his chest was rising as his breathing picked up.

“Dick. Look at me.”

Dick froze, and finally looked back at Bruce. There was a desperate gleam in his eye that was setting Bruce’s own nerves off. 

“Whatever it is, we can fix this.” Bruce said gently, despite the way his heart was beginning to thump, despite the sudden uncertainty that was crawling up his spine. Bruce offered a hand, and Dick glanced at it for a moment.

There was a long pause before Dick finally stepped away from him, shaking his head. “No. We can’t.” He said quietly. “. . . I’m sorry, Bruce.” 

Bruce didn’t try to follow when Dick turned and fled the factory. He just watched. Until the sounds of Owlman’s cruel laughter began to echo around him.

—

Dick barely registered the trip back to his Bludhaven apartment.

He entered through one of the windows, and let his legs carry him straight into the bathroom. It was a matter of autopilot. And Dick didn’t let himself think. He pushed down the rising tide and slipped out of the suit, rummaging through the drawers for his first aid kit, treating the worst of his injuries and rinsing the blood from his hair. He kept his mind carefully blank as he finished each small task, and he made it back out of the bathroom before he felt the dam crack apart.

He slumped down to the floor, leaning back against the bathroom door. The hardwood felt cold against his bare skin.

What the hell was wrong with him? It was over. He _ stopped _ Owlman. So why did he feel like he was shattering? Why was that pervasive sense of dread still snaking its way up his chest and throat?

Dick forced himself to inhale deeply. This was what Owlman wanted. His last words to Dick were just another manipulation. To make him doubt. To drive him even further from Bruce.

And Bruce . . . The way he had _looked_ at him. . . Part of Dick wanted to _believe _what he had said. To run back. Because they _were_ family. And that part was_ true_. And for a moment Dick could close his eyes and imagine it. Returning to Gotham. Feeling like it was _home_ _again, _for the first time in years. Like everything that had happened, all the pain and death, was just a nightmare. A bad dream he could just wake up from.

Dick opened his eyes. He knew the truth. There _ was _ no going back. And it could never be like before. Dick didn’t want it to be. He _ couldn’t. _

But it still hurt. It hurt like hell. And he knew it hurt Bruce, too. 

Dick leaned his head back and wrapped his arms around his legs. Slade had left. The thought came on like a dull ache, and Dick forced it out of his mind, and turned his gaze ahead. Somebody had replaced the apartment door, he noticed. Had cleaned up the mess from his first fight with Owlman days prior. And for some reason he felt the coil in his chest wind tighter. He felt something in his head insist that _ this was no longer a safe place_. It had been _ violated_. With picked locks and disabled security systems.

_ Miss Flores sends her regards. _

Dick felt the bitter tang of bile rise in his throat. Why had he talked to _ her_? What did she even tell him? 

He didn’t want to think about that. So he turned his attention back to the too clean room. The end table by the couch was gone. _ People _ had been in there. Probably just his own. But for some reason that didn't seem to matter. Because Dick felt too exposed all of a sudden. Like someone had pulled off the roof. Which was strange because the walls around him felt far too close together.

Dick inhaled another breath, deep and shaky. His heart was hammering too quickly now. And he knew he needed to get away from this place. Away from the city. From Bludhaven. From Gotham. 

He needed to get away from Bruce, too. Even more than he wanted to run _ to _ him.

Dick pulled himself up to unsteady feet, and made a decision.

——

Slade had nearly made it to the airport when his phone pinged with the security alert. He glanced down at the flashing screen, and his first instinct was to ignore it.

It would be so easy. His contract with Luthor was settled. He had his next job lined up. All he had to do was board the plane, and he’d be halfway around the world. It was the _ smart _ thing to do.

Slade sighed. It had been over an hour since he walked away from that factory. When the inevitability of the return of the status quo dawned on him. And he decided it was best to make his exit before he got caught up in the tangled web that was Grayson’s life. It would have been a clean escape. 

He stared idly out the windshield, tapping a finger against the wheel. Just go. The private plane was already chartered. And there was nothing _ here _ for him. Nothing he could keep. Or wouldn’t ruin.

All he had to do was walk away.

Slade cursed and pulled the car back onto the road. 

It took him about forty-five minutes to reach the safe house. As he slipped out of the vehicle, he caught sight of a motorcycle parked on the edge of the drive. He hummed and glanced up at the house. There were no lights on inside, but the moon cast a serene glow over the overhanging treetops. Slade took a moment to breathe in the crisp night air, then he strolled around to the side of the house. When he reached the back porch, he pulled himself onto the portico and up to the roof.

He spotted Dick sitting along the edge, staring up at stars that couldn’t shine through the smog back in Gotham. But Slade didn’t move. He just watched, transfixed by the vigilante bathed in moonlight. Several minutes might have gone by, Slade wasn’t so sure, before Dick finally spoke.

“You left me.” He said without looking away from the sky.

Slade didn’t reply. Not right away. Instead he breathed deeply and made his way to the edge of the roof, then he settled down beside Dick. “I did.” He admitted, after another long pause.

Dick shoulders rose and fell with a silent sigh. Then he finally looked over at Slade. “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here anymore. Not in Bludhaven. Not in Gotham.”

Slade turned his own gaze up to the stars. “Wintergreen is prepping a plane. We’re taking off in a few hours. We can drop you off anywhere you’d like.” He offered, casually, neutrally. 

“Anywhere.” Dick murmured back. 

The trees around them whispered fervently, ushered on by the fall breeze. Dick shivered under his hoodie and brushed a lock of hair from his face. And Slade realized that he wanted to pull him close. 

“Or you could reconsider my offer.” He said suddenly. “Come_ with me _.”

Dick’s eyes flashed back to his. And for a moment he just stared. And Slade stared back too, patiently.

“Slade . . .” He said with uncertainty.

“You came _ here_, Dick.” Slade said, tilting his head. 

“I know but . . .” Dick glanced down at his hands. “I don’t think it will work.” He admitted quietly.

“So what if it doesn’t?”

There was another long pause. Then Dick looked back to the horizon. And Slade followed his lead. Beneath them, the scattered lights of houses were shining through the darkness, a mirror to the stars above. As the night went on they would slowly twinkle out of existence, one by one. Until the small town peacefully fell asleep.

Dick suddenly grabbed Slade’s hand, and looked up at him with earnest eyes that sparkled with moonlight. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” He whispered.

Slade gently caught his chin with his free hand. “I know. Come with me.”

And Dick nodded.

——-

Dick watched from the top of the Perez building as the sun began to rise. It illuminated the city skyline with shades of pink and orange, and Dick couldn’t help but think that this high up, even Gotham looked beautiful.

Within the hour he’d be on a plane. He would leave it all behind. Not just the city. The responsibilities that weighed him down. The failures that shackled him. The people he loved. His friends and family. It was irresponsible. Destined to fail. He was just running away, and he knew it. 

But it was an escape. A way out of this hopeless tailspin. And for the first time in months Dick felt like some of that unbearable pressure might lift from his shoulders. Like he might be able to breathe again. And maybe even forget.

Dick didn’t turn around when he heard the ruffle of a cape behind him. He just tapped the heels of his sneakers against the side of the building and exhaled.

“You're leaving.” Tim said quietly as he peeled himself from the shadows. It wasn’t a question.

Dick nodded. “I am.” He turned back to look at the young vigilante. The successor of his own colors. “Thanks for coming.”

Tim nodded, expression solemn, and stepped up to the edge of the building beside Dick. “To say goodbye, right?”

Dick sighed as he pulled himself up to his feet. “I need some time. To figure things out.” 

“I get that.” Tim murmured back. 

“I wanted to give you this.” Dick said, pulling a phone from his jean pockets. “It has a number you can reach me by. If you ever need anything, if you just want to talk. I’ll be there, Tim.”

“Thanks, Dick.”

They stood in silence for a while. All too aware of the distance that would soon spread between them. This was the hardest part. But he _ had _to see Tim before he left. The kid had already been through enough. And maybe Dick needed to say goodbye as well.

——

The private plane had been loaded and prepped for takeoff by the time Dick arrived. When he entered the luxury cabin, he found that Slade had made himself at home, and as the mercenary glanced up from the tablet in his hands, Dick suddenly stopped short. Because Slade was wearing _ glasses, _and a gray sweater with rolled up sleeves, and Dick was suddenly aware that he had never seen the mercenary looking quite so casual. 

“I was beginning to think you had changed your mind.” He said, turning off the tablet.

“No, no. Keep those on.” Dick said hastily as Slade reached for the glasses. “You look like a sexy librarian.”

Slade raised an eyebrow at him. “You got a thing for librarians?”

“Maybe.” Dick murmured as he slinked over to Slade’s side. “There’s precedence.” He tilted his head as he examined Slade’s face. “I wouldn’t think you’d need those.”

Slade gave him a funny look, then pulled Dick’s arm until the vigilante slid onto his lap. “The screen glare. It gives me a headache.”

“Ah.” Dick wrapped an arm around Slade’s neck. “Well even _ you _need a weakness or two. It’s only fair to us unenhanced folk.” He said as he ran a hand through silver-white hair.

Slade hummed in reply. Then he tilted his head and met Dick’s gaze. “Are you ready to go?” He asked. The question was innocent. But Dick knew what it really was. An opportunity to opt out. A last chance to return to reality.

“I am.” Dick said steadily.

“Then we should celebrate.” Slade reached over to open up a side compartment. Dick glided off of his lap and onto the opposite seat, watching as he retrieved a champagne bottle and a pair of flutes.

Dick snorted and gave the other man a skeptical glance. “I think it’s a little early for celebration.” He said.

Slade smirked at him as he worked the muselet off the bottle. “I don’t believe that attitude is appropriate for a new partnership.” He chided. 

“Partnership?” Dick parroted. “I believe I agreed to work one job with you.” The cork came out with a loud _ pop_. “_One.” _

Slade’s eye sparkled with amusement as he filled the first champagne flute and handed it to Dick. “Whatever you say, little bird.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Dick replied, rolling his eyes, even as he took the glass offered to him.

“And yet here you are.” Slade replied smugly as he set the bottle down and lifted his flute expectantly. “Well?”

Dick smiled despite himself. “Fine.” He said, raising his own glass. “Cheers.”

“To new beginnings . . . _ Renegade.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who read, gave kudos and commented! I plan to make a series, this being part one. So more adventures of Deathstroke and Renegade to come!


End file.
